


turn it back and watch it run

by yallbitter



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Beholding!Jon, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), F/F, F/M, Feral Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Feral Martin Blackwood, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Gets a Hug, M/M, Martin Blackwood Needs a Hug, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Monster!Jon, Multi, No beta we kayak like Tim, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sasha James Lives, Spoilers, The Eyepocalpyse, Time Travel Fix-It, Warning: Elias Bouchard, and he bloody gets one, because im unable to write sad things without making a happy bit, canon who??? dont know her, cant belive i forgot that tag, forgetting a fellow ace i feel like such an asshole, jonmartin, just let them be happy please, no lines for bitchard we hate that motherfucker, theres two jons and thats a lot for our poor martin to andle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallbitter/pseuds/yallbitter
Summary: I caved and made a time travel AUAlso I actually planned this one so it'll be updated at least once a weekJon looked at the rough ring that encircled his left ring finger and smiled, a little sadly. If anyone had been looking at him in that moment they would have seen many dozens of eyes, blinking at odd intervals and watching as salty tears trickled out of each and every one.“Don’t be too long, dearest. Please don’t be too long…”
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 175
Kudos: 301





	1. The Doorway

Wandering Helen’s spiralling corridors alone would have been difficult enough _with_ eyes, but now Jon didn’t even have that. The second he’d stepped into the threshold every eye on his body snapped shut and stayed shut, leaving him completely in the dark. He couldn’t even See in here, so he just had to hope that Helen meant that she wanted to help, and would actually lead him where he needed to be. The first door he found opened with barely a touch, and Jon found himself on the floor of the institute, eyes wide once again, and Knowing that for now, he was alone here.

Jon looked up and saw Helen leaning against her doorway. She didn’t have the usual cocky air about her; letting Jon through her halls had been a real trial. Nevertheless, she grinned at him before she slammed the door.

“Good luck, Jonathannnnnn……”

“You too, Helen. I’ll Know if you don’t keep the bargain.”

Her laughter rattled around his ears, and it tasted like the colour of a car backfiring down the road.

“Ok,” Jon murmured to himself. “What time is it?” He concentrated and the Knowledge took shape without much thought, putting him at 12th March, 2016, the day before Martin moved into the institute.

Perfect. Now he just had to get to the tunnels, find Gertrude, and wait for Martin to get here.

Jon looked at the rough ring that encircled his left ring finger and smiled, a little sadly. If anyone had been looking at him in that moment they would have seen many dozens of eyes, blinking at odd intervals and watching as salty tears trickled out of each and every one.

“Don’t be too long, dearest. Please don’t be too long…”


	2. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle as he stared at the sight before him. There is something incredibly disturbing about looking into the face of someone who could easily be your future, particularly when that future looked so….. painful.

_Right,_ Jon thought, looking around the archive. _What should I do first?_

He suddenly remembered the shower and bathroom on the first floor of the institute, and that question was answered.

“Shower it is, then.” Jon took one last look around at what would be home for the foreseeable future and set off to get clean for the first time in…..

 _Nearly 2 and a half years,_ his mind supplied. Had it really been that long? Time didn’t work the way it used to in the ‘Eyepocalpyse’ as he and Martin had started calling it, but that long? It felt strange, knowing that nearly three years of his life had been spent walking across a doomed earth. That being said, he now had nearly 3 years’ worth of dirt, mud, and blood caked over his body and in his hair.

As he dug through the bathroom cupboard for the free bottles of soap, shampoo and conditioner he Knew was there, he began making a mental list of things he would have to buy the next day-all he had was the clothes on his back, and they weren’t going to do if he wanted to look normal and avoid having to concentrate on hiding all his eyes at once. Making them vanish off his body was hard and required a significant portion of his attention that he just wouldn’t have to spare if this was going to work. So, baggy turtlenecks, long skirts, and loose trousers would have to be the way to go, a fact that Jon certainly wasn’t going to complain about after apparently 3 years ( _Really?_ _Three years?)_ in the same jeans and jacket that he got from Salesas’ safehouse, with holes cut in them so they didn’t irritate his eyes.

The feeling of the warm water was something Jon hadn’t felt in a long, long time, and for a while he sat there, eyes closed and mind clear, enjoying the sensation and working the knots and grime out of his hair. When he was thoroughly clean and scrubbed down, he got out, dried off and looked in the mirror. He had a quite a beard, and his hair hung about halfway down his back-not much time for haircuts when every second is a fight for your life.

He didn’t mind the hair, honestly, but the beard bothered him, so he reached for a razor that he Knew would be there and shaved for the first time in 3 years. The sight of his own hairless face was a bit of a shock, and the extra eyes, scars, and lines didn’t help. If it had really been 3 years, Jon was now technically 35, but he looked closer to 45.

No matter. Jon didn’t have time to be concerned about aging-after all, if Jonah had been right, it wasn’t going to be an issue. Not for a while, anyway.

Finally satisfied with his cleanliness, Jon got dressed and left the institute. It was early morning, about 3 am, according to his internal clock, and nothing was open yet, so he walked around the London he used to know, seeing all the things he thought he’d never see again. He ran all around, looking and taking in everything the sights that once seemed so irrelevant. His brain was going faster than ever, supplying him with endless facts and directions until he went past a store that sold clothes and had, apparently, just opened.

_Perfect._

Jon didn’t worry about pricing. He still had the institute credit card he’d gotten all those years ago, which was also, technically, this year, and if Jonah was going to be an evil piece of shit, he could be an evil piece of shit who was paying for Jon’s clothes.

Arms piled high with soft fabric and wool, Jon headed to the counter when suddenly something caught one of his eyes- a pair of green sunglasses.

They were cheap, dark green, shaped like hearts, and Jon _loved_ them. The colour was vibrant and the size a little ridiculous, but Jon didn’t care in the slightest as he grabbed them and put them on top of the pile with the earrings and necklaces he’d also gotten. It had been far too long since he’d allowed himself to dress the way he wanted to, and he was damned if he was gonna keep doing that now. And if he really needed to reason it away, he could say that the green would hide the strange hue of his eyes, at least a little.

The salesman looked at him strangely as he rang up the clothes, but bagged and handed them to him quickly enough. Jon Knew that he was going to be the topic of conversation on his date tonight, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. He did look rather odd.

* * *

That night he was back in the tunnels, sitting on the inflatable mattress he’d picked up and staring at the ceiling. A million things flashed across his eyes, and he sat back and let the knowledge and sights flow into him like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. As always there was some measure of fear in this cocktail of humanity, but it was no longer the only ingredient, and Jon relished the new flavour.

When he was sated and content, Jon wondered what to do with the rest of the night. He didn’t sleep anymore, and couldn’t even if he wanted to, but he didn’t fancy going out again. He sat back and thought for a moment and eventually decided to go up to the breakroom and make tea. It wouldn’t be as good as Martin’s, but it would be something to do. And this Martin should be asleep, so there was no fear of getting caught. His mind made up, Jon made his way up and out of the tunnels, opening the trapdoor carefully and padding silently to the breakroom. The kettle had almost finished boiling when he saw Martin walking towards him.

_Shit shit shit shit._

He didn’t have time to hide, and even if he did the kettle would give him away. Could he pretend to be this Jon? No, that wouldn’t work, and Martin was fast approaching.

There was nothing for it. He’d have to be caught. It was sooner than he’d wanted to be found out, but Jon could work with this; he could figure it out, even without his Martin.

 _He’ll be here soon._ He reminded himself once more before forcing his extra eyes away and turning to smile at Martin as he walked in.

“Hello Martin. How are you?”

Martin squeaked and dropped his phone, jumping back.

“J-Jon? That can’t- when did- how- how long have you _been_ here?”

“Only about 2 days.”

“You haven’t gone home in two days? Jon! That’s not-“

He was cut off by Jon smiling, a sight that Martin honestly never thought he’d see.

“I haven’t gone home in three years, Martin. But then, I can’t speak for myself. I can hardly be expected to remember everything I did in the last 10 years, can I? Jesus, the timeline is confusing, I’ll have to have words with Helen about-“

“Jon. Jon. What in sweet buggery are you _talking_ about? Are you even Jon? He’s…..younger than this. And his hair isn’t that long…. What the fuck is going on? Who _are_ you?”

Martin’s dangerous and protective side was making an appearance, and the sudden lump in his throat at the familiar sight was enough to distract Jon and have Martin grab him and carry him to the room he was sleeping in. Jon didn’t fight as Martin tied him up, and Watched him pace outside the door, deliberating between calling the police or Sasha or Tim or even him… God, Sasha and Tim. Jon hadn’t seen them in so long, and despite everything, despite all the knowledge he now held, Jon still didn’t know what the real Sasha looked like. And Tim…. Poor, angry Tim. The wreckage of a once-great friendship was all the Jon had had left of Tim the first time, and he was determined to avoid that fate this time round.

Martin eventually settled on not calling anyone and waiting until everyone arrived the next day. Because what was he _supposed_ to say?

“Ah, hello Jon, yes I’m sorry to bother you at midnight but you see there’s a doppelganger of you if you were old and traumatised in the Archive and I’m not sure what to do. Mind coming in early to sort it out?” Even to his own ears, alone (sort of) in the archives he sounded ridiculous. Better to wait until morning and keep an eye on this weirdo.

So Martin went back in and sat on the other chair to do exactly that.

If this was Jonathan Sims, it was no Jonathan Sims that Martin knew. He was older, more careworn, and his face and hands were littered with strange scars like silver circles and a handprint, of all things. The unruly mop of salt-and-pepper hair around his head was longer than Martin had ever seen, and the long black skirt and sweater wasn’t anything that his Jon had ever worn. But by far the strangest thing was how the doppelganger was looking at him. Normally Jon looked at him with slight disdain and disinterest, when he looked at him at all, but this Jon looked slightly sad, like he was looking at Martin and seeing someone else, someone he cared about, hell, maybe even someone he loved.

Nobody looked at Martin Blackwood like that.

* * *

The morning came eventually, and with a stern warning to the doppelganger Martin went to meet Tim, Jon and Sasha at the door.

“Morning, Marto!” Tim was cheerful and vibrant, as always, and he slung an arm around Martin’s shoulder in greeting. “Sleep well in the gateway to hell?”

“Tim!” Sasha scolded, but there was little heat to her words, and her dark eyes sparkled with laughter that Martin couldn’t bring himself to join in with.

“About that…. Do you know where Jon is? I need to show you all something.”

Tim raised one thick black eyebrow.

“You’ve here one night and you already remodelled? Boss man will kill you if you disturbed his precious archive-“

“’Boss Man’ would do no such thing, Tim. Hello, Sasha, Martin. What’s happened?” Jon had walked in behind Tim as he was speaking, and he looked to be in a good mood, for once.

Martin hated that he was about to ruin that.

“Just…..follow me. It’s hard to explain.”

The others turned to each other, all with the same question in their eyes. When they found that nobody had an answer, they turned and followed the tall blond down the hall.

Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw when they entered Martin’s room. Sitting in a stiff looking chair was someone or _something_ that looked like Jon if he was about 70% more insane.

“Hello Tim, hello Martin, hello….” His voice trailed off and he looked at Sasha as if trying to get her name. His gaze was unnerving, like he had many more than just two eyes, like he saw her from every angle at once.

“Sasha.” She told him, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. The reaction to her name was unexpected, as the things eyes widened, and its mouth opened a little.

“….Sasha? You- You’re-“ It seemed to be at a loss for words, and its voice was just a little choked. That was more unnerving than the whole ‘I’m being watched’ thing, because seeing those emotions and reactions on Jon’s face was something that seemed completely impossible.

Tim, meanwhile, was still processing. This guy looked like Jon, but Jon was _nothing_ like this. If he was trying to sneak in and replace him, he’d done a shitty job of it.

Well. No, that wasn’t fair. He had the face and voice spot on, and there was just something about him that screamed ‘Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London’, but this couldn’t be Jon. It just couldn’t be. And if it was trying to be Jon, then Tim was going to stop it, because anything that came in here and tried to steal the face of the people he cared about would have to go through all the rage of one Timothy Alan Stoker to do it. He couldn’t let that happen again.

Not after Danny.

Jon hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle as he stared at the sight before him. There is something incredibly disturbing about looking into the face of someone who could easily be your future, particularly when that future looked so….. painful.

Every scar, every line, every tremor in the hand of the man before him, Jon could swear he felt on himself. His head grew heavy with the phantom weight of hair, and he clenched his fist when he saw the large scar on the copy’s palm, like he was feeling a burn he’d never gotten. His mind swirled with million thoughts and questions and comments and it was almost too much, so Jon asked a question that he hoped would end his fears.

“Who are you?”

The other Jon recognised the accidental compulsion in his doubles voice, and although he could easily resist it at this point, he answered the question. He Knew how afraid his past self was, but this had to happen eventually. No time like the present, he supposed.

“My name is Jonathan Sims.”

“No. No you aren’t Jonathan Sims because I’M Jonathan Sims, so I’ll ask you again. WHO ARE YOU?”

Jon sighed, and all present where struck by yet another similarity.

“Ok, ok. I didn’t want to do this but if it’s the only way you’ll believe me….” Jon took a deep breath. He hated the next words that would come out of his mouth as much as he past counterpart undoubtedly would, but he needed them to believe him. He wished Martin were here, his Martin would be able to help him.

“Mr Spider wants another guest for dinner. It is polite to knock, Jon.” He flinched himself at the words, the painful remembrance of his first experience with this world still affecting him to this day.

The others looked at Jon, who was as pale as his complexion would allow, and looked like he was about to pass out. His next words were a hard, angry whisper.

“Who. Are. You.”

“I’m Jon Sims.”

The other Jon turned and ran out of the archives. The others looked after him and made to follow, but as they turned, their way was blocked by a bright yellow door, twisting and pulsing in a way that made their minds spin. It swung open to reveal another man, who promptly passed out on the floor, facedown. The woman above him waved at them with hands like knives, and her impossibly wide grin was scary in a way that none of them could fully explain.

The Jon who was tied to the chair smiled politely at her.

“Thank you, Helen.” It was sincere, and with a snap the bindings around Jon were broken and he was next to the other man. “I’ll talk to you later, ok? We…haven’t explained anything yet.”

“Oh, Jon, you silly boy. Why would you do that?”

“I was waiting for him.” Jon lost his composure for just a second, and the woman ( _Helen?)_ laughed at that, the slimy coils of sound settling over their shoulders like oily snakes, and before they could finish hearing the distorted, echoing noise, the door was gone, leaving only the man on the floor.

* * *

Jon ran out of the institute at top speed.

It couldn’t be him it just couldn’t, but then how did it know about Mr Spider? How did it look so much like him? How did it know exactly what to say to send him spiralling like that? At a loss for what to do, he reached for his phone and tried the only number that spoke of a vague social life.

As the phone rung, Jon chewed his knuckles and tugged on the longer bits of hair on top of his head, nervous habits that he was never quite able to break, despite his best efforts.

The phone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello Georgie. It’s Jon. Look, I’m sorry to do this….”


	3. The Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I missed you.” He whispered softly, smiling that smile that always help remind Jon that he was human, and that he was loved.
> 
> “I missed you too, Martin.”
> 
> For a moment they stood there, foreheads touching and relishing the safety. There wasn’t any starving avatar about to leap out at them, there was no crumbling world to avoid, it was just the two of them, ready to stop that fate from ever coming to pass.

The man on floor had white hair that curled around his head like clouds, and his clothes were stained with blood. Jon cradled him in his arms, turning him over to reveal-

“Martin?” Tim and Sasha spoke at the same time, incredulous, while Martin said “Me?”

Because this man was unmistakably Martin the same way the other was unmistakably Jon. The base was right, but the details just seemed wrong.

As they watched Jon murmur something into Martin’s ear, the white-haired man’s eyes flickered open, revealing that they were the same, unnatural, misty white as his hair.

Was this Martin _blind?_ The white was a stark contrast to what they were used to, their Martin and his gold curls and blue eyes. But then the other Martin, or whatever it was, spoke.

“Those are the most ridiculous glasses I’ve ever seen, Jon.” The familiarity of the light, affectionate teasing felt like a punch to the chest for the Martin standing above them both.

“Well, hello to you too Martin. I sure did miss you when you could have been lost and dead inside a spiral domain!” The other Jon was putting on a face of mock hurt and offense, but he didn’t loosen his grip on the other Martin’s shoulders, like they were the only things keeping him grounded.

The only sign that Martin had rolled his eyes at all was that his pupil moved up and away, and he grinned weakly up at the man above him.

“I missed you too, Jon.”

For a moment they sat there looking at each other, seemingly having a conversation, although none of the gathered party could even begin to understand what was being said. There seemed to be a staticky feeling building, and Sasha looked at her friends, making sure that they were making the connections she was. This Jon and Martin were clearly very close friends, something that she hadn’t thought possible from the Jon and Martin she knew. But then, these guys obviously _weren’t_ the Jon and Martin she knew.

At a loss, and growing a little uncomfortable at the oppressive silence in the room, Sasha cleared her throat.

“Hi? Um. Sorry to bother you and interrupt…. Whatever this is,” she gestured at the scene before them all, “but can one of please, please explain what’s happening? Because- Oh.” Sasha looked at the ground, then at Martin and Tim, who had matching expressions of shock. “Where- Where did…. did you all….?” Martin and Tim nodded mutely.

Jon and Martin had disappeared in the middle of her sentence. The only sign that they’d ever been there was a bloodstain on the carpet, and the smell of salt in the air.

“We need to find our Jon.” Said Tim, determinedly. “I don’t like that he ran off like that. Who w _ere_ those guys? There’s something wrong here.”

“Yes,” Martin spoke softly, as though his mind was far, far away. “I agree.”

And despite everything else that had happened, the only thing he could see was the matching metal loops around their fingers.

The archival assistants left Martin’s room, and went up to leave the institute. They saw no sign of their Jon, nor of the other Jon and Martin.

“Should we….?” Tim asked, the question unfinished but understood.

Sasha thought for a minute before responding.

“No. No time. We’ll find them and figure out what the _hell_ is happening after we get Jon back.”

* * *

Georgie had told him to go home and wait there, and when Georgie gave an instruction like that, Jon listened.

Especially when he’d just seen a copy of himself who said one sentence and had him sprinting away like a child. God, what did the others think if him? He’d always tried to be so professional and now they probably thought he was a fool.

Sasha already hated him; he was sure. She was infinitely more qualified for his position, and if it hadn’t been for Elias breathing down his back and having him sign about 5000 different agreements, he would already have handed it to her.

Tim…. What would Tim think? Tim would just laugh at him. Jon wasn’t unfamiliar with being the butt of a joke, hell, he was very familiar with it, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle jokes about what had just happened. Such a small thing, that little book. So long ago, and yet he couldn’t even hear a line from it without quaking like he’d just watched…. Evan? Matthew? Maybe……Aaron? He couldn’t even remember his damn _name._

And Martin. God, Martin. Jon may not have liked him in the beginning, a small grudge at being stuck with an assistant he didn’t want, in a job he didn’t deserve manifesting into being nit-picky and bossy and just plain _rude._ Jon had almost been able to convince himself that he genuinely didn’t like Martin, but then he hadn’t come to work in nearly 2 weeks. Jon found himself missing the perfect tea that he made and left on his desk every day without fail. He missed the way his very presence was like a fireplace, a comforting warmth and genuine kindness that made Jon feel soft and squishy inside, although he did his damnedest to hide it. Not having Martin around just made things feel worse, and Jon realised, on about the 4th day, that he actually thought that Martin was a pretty great guy. Maybe not the best assistant, but a great person, nonetheless. And he wasn’t bad looking, either.

 _No, Jon._ He mentally slapped himself. _You can’t do that._

As Jon unlocked the door to his flat, he flicked away a lock of hair that wasn’t there. He was still feeling that phantom weight, the imaginary pain that he hadn’t even felt yet. His palm was burning, his face itched, and he could swear there was a sharp pain at his throat. It was like everything he’d seen was bubbling over, and he was feeling it all at once as his heart pounded against his ribs and he almost fell through the door. Jon’s head spun as he made his way to the couch in his living room and collapsed onto it. He was still sitting there trying to get a handle on himself when the doorbell rang, and Georgie announced her presence.

“Come in!” Jon called weakly. He didn’t think he could stand.

Georgie hurried into the room and over to him, concern all over her face as she looked at him. After their breakup Jon and Georgie hadn’t been on great terms, but they found that they missed each other and the easiness of their friendship before they dated. So, after a while, they started talking casually again, and quickly became fast friends. Their relationship was mostly banter over text, the occasional meet up for tea, and random drunk therapy nights where Georgie made Jon acknowledge his feelings and Jon helped Georgie stay out of slumps. Both of them had seen the worst parts of each other, and yet the Jon in front of her now was almost unrecognisable.

“Jon…. Jon, what happened to you? You look…..well, you look awful! Are you ok?”

“You should see the other guy.” Jon laughed mirthlessly at a joke that only he seemed to really understand.

_You should see the other guy. God, I hope she never does. I don’t want to become…. whatever that was._

“I don’t know why I called you. I’m sorry. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.”

“Try me, Jon. You’d be surprised.” She put an arm around him, making sure he was comfortable with the contact by first touching his shoulder and waiting for a nod. “It can’t be worse than the time you flashed a whole audience on our third gig, right?”

The Flashing Incident had become their standard ‘How Bad Is This Situation’ measurement, and it was rare that anything bad came close to that.

The look on his face suggested that it was worse. Much worse. Jon took a shaky breath in-

And his phone rang. It was Sasha.

“Sorry, I- I have to take this.” He looked at Georgie apologetically, and she nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“Hello Sasha. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I-. What? They- Another Martin? No that’s not- Ok, Ok, I’m sorry. Yes, yes Georgie’s here. A friend of mine. Yes, Tim, I have- Why are we doing this now? Look, you said they disappeared. Maybe it was a collective hallucination, maybe something leaked- Yes, alright, ok. Let’s just...come back in the morning and deal with it then, ok? I- I can’t do this right now. Yes. Thank you. Goodnight, Sasha, Martin, Tim.”

As Georgie watched this little exchange, she wondered at was happening.

_Another Martin?_

Georgie was far from a sceptic, fuck, her livelihood depended on it, but until Jon explained what was happening, she wasn’t going to make any decisions. Or judgements.

“Sorry about that.” Jon sat back down, and he seemed a little calmer.

“It’s fine.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Now, tell me _everything.”_

It seemed that all the years away from his ‘Storytelling Musical Cabaret’ hadn’t put a lid on Jon’s ability to make stories feel real. As he described the feeling of looking at his own future, Georgie shivered, imagining the fear that she no longer felt. The way he spoke about the ‘Mr Spider’ comment made her skin feel like it was covered in tiny feet, and when he was finished, she was…. Not spooked, exactly. She couldn’t _get_ spooked. But this definitely didn’t feel right.

“And…you’re sure all of this happened?” Wrong thing to say. Jon was usually very outwardly calm, so when he snapped, it was something very unnerving to see.

“YES! YES, I’M BLOODY SURE, AND I HATE THAT I’M SURE, GEORGIE! I HATE THAT I WAS JUST STARING AT MYSELF AND I HATE THAT I CAN FEEL EVERY SCAR ON HIS BODY AND I HATE THAT IT FEELS LIKE _HE’S STILL WATCHING ME.”_

“Jon. JON! I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Sit down, have a drink, try and get some rest. I’ll stay over. In the morning we’ll go back to the institute and figure it out. It’s going to be ok, Jon. It always is.”

“No. It isn’t.” Jon turned and went into the bedroom, closing the door with a careful push.

He’d always hated slamming doors.

* * *

Falling into the Lonely and dropping out of it in the institute tunnels hadn’t been on Jon’s to-do list, and apparently it hadn’t been on Martin’s either.

“I….I didn’t know I could still _do_ that.” He’d said, sitting up on the mattress and rubbing the back of his head.

“Apparently, you can.” Jon wasn’t going to deny that he was a little worried. Peter Lukas and his vanishing act weren’t things Jon wanted to relive, and he certainly didn’t want Martin reliving what had, according to him, been some of the worst months of his life. “Do you feel more connected to the Lonely now? I could just Look but-“

Martin smiled at him, that genuine, loving _happy_ smile that Jon had missed so much. It may have only been 2 days, but he was allowed to miss his boyfriend-

No. Not boyfriend.

 _Husband._ He had a _husband._ He was _married._ Martin Blackwood had loved him enough to _marry him._ It had been the greatest day of his life.

“Jon, I’ve never felt less Lonely in my _life._ We have a chance now! We can save them all, we can stop Jonah, save Tim, save _you._ Have you see Sasha yet?”

“Yes, she was there. The girl with the purple braids? I- I didn’t recognise her either.”

Martin looked at him wonderingly. He had probably assumed the same as Jon; that he’d recognise her or at least Know who she was. Apparently not. Jon shook his head, and Martin acknowledged and moved on to catching up on lost time.

“You look lovely like this, you know. The skirt suits you.”

Jon’s skin darkened incrementally, hard to see on his face, but Martin knew that every time he blushed, he’d tuck his head away like a turtle.

“Have I ever worn a skirt around you before?”

“Once. At Salesas’ place. I thought you looked lovely then, too. So lovely, that I just had to do this.” Martin came towards him and swept the shorter man into his arms, peppering kisses over his face. As soon as they were out of sight every eye had come back, and each one got a featherlight brush of lips before Martin pressed them against Jon’s.

“I missed you.” He whispered softly, smiling that smile that always help remind Jon that he was human, and that he was loved.

“I missed you too, Martin.”

For a moment they stood there, foreheads touching and relishing the _safety._ There wasn’t any starving avatar about to leap out at them, there was no crumbling world to avoid, it was just the two of them, ready to stop that fate from ever coming to pass.

“So,” Martin spoke first, excitement sparking behind his eyes, “what first, Mr Spooky Google?”

“That’s Mr Spooky Google Blackwood-Sims, to you.”

And the laughter that echoed around the chamber didn’t contain the drop of fear that Jon had come to expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I'm gonna update once a week  
> me: *uploads 3 chapters in less than 2 days.*
> 
> BTW, Thank you so, so, so much to everyone reading this! if you've taken the time and energy to read this, I cannot thank you enough! This is the first multi-chapter fic that ive ever properly written, and id love any tips or advice you can give me to improve! Thank you again for reading, I love you guys!


	4. The Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha 4/20 lol
> 
> The splintering of wood was quickly swallowed by a building, high pitched squeal as the long, twisted, shifting thing crawled out and towered above them, as much as it could in the small space.
> 
> “Â̶̫̕r̶͈̻̞͊c̸̥̰̄͌̑h̵̩̔̽͠i̷̡̤̖̍v̸͇̄͝i̷͓̖̥͑s̵̨͎̬̄t̴̝͚̮̔̈.̵͕̘̱̒.̷͙̀.̴̥̝̕̚.̸̢̦̊͝.̸̡̼͐͑Y̷̛̫̪͚̊̐ǫ̷̯̂ū̵̬̓ ̸̼͑͑ḩ̶̠͙̈́͋̊ā̸̧͇̄̔v̵̨̓̓̉e̷̘̗͒̋̚ ̶͒͜m̷̺̔a̷̬̪͓͝d̸̢̨̩e̷̡̪͖̅̈́̚ ̷̛͍̒ą̵͝ ̸̧̦̫͛m̵̧̺̾͝i̵̛͇͛͝s̶̘̽̎t̸̟̃ą̵͉̆͜k̷͚̩͂͘e̷̓̀͒͜͜ ̴̞͛͐r̶̟̟͒e̷͕͓̚l̶̖̘͆̈̚ę̵̹͖̃͌ă̴̧̚s̶̛͎̃i̴̬͇̊̿́n̷͚̓g̴̮͗̏͝ ̷̭̪͇̈́ư̴̘̠̲̋s̶̠̞̮̎͝.̸͙̅̍.̵͕̍͒.̶̡̼̾̽.̵̢̡̭̊̄͝”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CEO of hand-wavey explanations that further my personal plot idea

“I forgot how heavy this stupid thing was.” Groaned Jon, straining as he stumbled backward. The sharp wood of the table was digging into his fingers, and he if he had the energy to Know anything at that moment, he would have Known that it just kept getting heavier.

“You knew exactly how heavy it was.” Grunted Martin at the other end, eyes twisted shut.

“Left. Yes, I suppose I did, but that’s hardly the point, _Martin.”_ Jon stuck his tongue out at the other man. “Another left, and then we’ll be there.”

Sure enough, they arrived in the wide chamber that they were staying in and deposited the intricately carved Web table roughly into the floor. Martin stretched and twisted, working feeling back into his fingers.

“Why couldn’t I just, y’know, fog it here?”

“I have a feeling that the Web would disapprove, and unfortunately I’m not quite strong enough to take on the Mother of Puppets. Also, if you vanish into the Lonely again, I don’t Know if I could get you out. And that’s capital K Know.”

Martin shrugged.

“That’s fair.” He scratched his head, still getting used to the shorter cut. Jon wasn’t bad with a pair of scissors, as they’d found out the previous night. But that comes with being an all-knowing eldritch being, Martin supposed. “What are we gonna do with it, then? I’m not sleeping next to it.”

Jon rolled his eyes affectionately, which created a psychedelic effect as they rolled at slightly different points in a million different directions.

“Obviously. I’m going to release it and smite it again. That way it never gets Sasha, _and_ you get to set a table on fire.”

“Well, I can’t possibly turn down such an incredible offer. Also, do you know how weird it looks when you roll your eyes? It’s really odd to look at.”

“Is it? I’m sorry, I’ll-“

“No! No, it’s cool. I like it. I like you.”

“Is that all?” Jon’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and this time it was Martin’s turn to roll his eyes. He opened his arms and Jon fell into them with a grin.

“Good thing I love you.”

“I love you too. Now, let’s destroy this piece of shit.” Jon rubbed his hands together and nodded at Martin, who hoisted his axe and swung.

The splintering of wood was quickly swallowed by a building, high pitched squeal as the long, twisted, shifting _thing_ crawled out and towered above them, as much as it could in the small space.

“Â̶̫̕r̶͈̻̞͊c̸̥̰̄͌̑h̵̩̔̽͠i̷̡̤̖̍v̸͇̄͝i̷͓̖̥͑s̵̨͎̬̄t̴̝͚̮̔̈.̵͕̘̱̒.̷͙̀.̴̥̝̕̚.̸̢̦̊͝.̸̡̼͐͑Y̷̛̫̪͚̊̐ǫ̷̯̂ū̵̬̓ ̸̼͑͑ḩ̶̠͙̈́͋̊ā̸̧͇̄̔v̵̨̓̓̉e̷̘̗͒̋̚ ̶͒͜m̷̺̔a̷̬̪͓͝d̸̢̨̩e̷̡̪͖̅̈́̚ ̷̛͍̒ą̵͝ ̸̧̦̫͛m̵̧̺̾͝i̵̛͇͛͝s̶̘̽̎t̸̟̃ą̵͉̆͜k̷͚̩͂͘e̷̓̀͒͜͜ ̴̞͛͐r̶̟̟͒e̷͕͓̚l̶̖̘͆̈̚ę̵̹͖̃͌ă̴̧̚s̶̛͎̃i̴̬͇̊̿́n̷͚̓g̴̮͗̏͝ ̷̭̪͇̈́ư̴̘̠̲̋s̶̠̞̮̎͝.̸͙̅̍.̵͕̍͒.̶̡̼̾̽.̵̢̡̭̊̄͝”

Its voice was terrible, and they very sound of it wormed into Martin’s skull and picked at his mind. He blocked his ears in an attempt to keep it out, and watched as Jon did his work.

Every eye on Jon’s body, normally wandering and moving in every direction, focused directly onto the Not-Them. Their piercing gaze was magnified a trillion times, neon green light emanating from every one of them as Jon’s hair rose and more eyes opened in the air above him, hemming the creature in. It turned every which way, but the wall of unblinking eyes met it’s every movement like a searchlight, trained onto their helpless prey.

Then Jon spoke, and the static in the room crackled ever louder.

“I turn my gaze upon this wretched thing! You shall Know the fear you sow! Watch, and be Watched!”

The thing twisted and fought uselessly, a million faces in a million expressions shifting over its body in an endless swirling tide of pain and loss and _fear._

With one last horrible screech, the Not-Them crumbled, leaving nothing but a smear of ash on the ground. The green light faded, and Jon fell to his knees in joy. He looked at Martin, and smiled wide, wider than he ever had. When he spoke, his voice was still a little staticky.

“We did it. We did it, Martin. We can save them all! We can-“ Jon stopped abruptly and his head whipped around. “Shit. Fuck. Fuck. That’s……that’s not good.”

Martin was next to Jon at this point, arms wrapped around him and almost crying with joy.

“What? What’s not good? Did- Did it not work?” His voice jumped on the last syllable, betraying the fear that he was trying to squash down.

“No! No, it worked, don’t worry, darling,” Jon reassured him, “But it appears that Tim and I also saw it.”

Martin groaned.

“Fuck.”

* * *

_What the HELL did we just see? What the fuck was that thing?_

Tim tore away from the cavern, barely looking to see if Jon was behind him. The phone in his hand was clenched so tightly that he thought it might break, and his heart was beating faster than he’d ever thought was possible.

Then again, he also didn’t think it was possible for someone to create glowing green eyes in mid-air and make an evil shadow snake thing explode.

Jon’s head spun as he made his way down the corridor behind Tim. Whatever they’d just seen, he didn’t think he could explain it away. His ears still rang with the static and squealing that had swelled to fill the room just moments before, and those millions of glowing green eyes, all locked onto that hideous _thing._ He couldn’t picture it clearly, the image wasn’t sticking in his brain, but he truly didn’t think that he’d want to remember it, even if he could. Whatever the man that seemed to be him had done, it certainly wasn’t human. And if that version of him wasn’t human, then there was no guarantee that _he_ was human. That being said, it didn’t seem to be a _bad_ thing that his double had just done. That weird, snake-like creature obviously wasn’t good news, but did that justify the complete annihilation that he’d just witnessed?

Jon didn’t know what to think about any of it as he raced after Tim and clambered up the stairs, panting. The others were waiting anxiously around the trapdoor that they’d found completely by accident that morning, after Martin pointed out an odd bump in the carpet that turned out to be a handle. Jon’s stomach did a flip as he looked at Martin’s concerned round face above him, but he squashed those thoughts as soon as they peeked around the corners of his mind. He didn’t have time for this. Not right now.

“We…..got….a….video….” Panted Tim, holding his phone up to Georgie like an offering. “It was…..so….fucked up…”

Jon nodded his agreement and dropped into his office swivel chair.

They gathered around the screen to watch as the video began with Jon’s voice.

“Tim, shut up. They’re going to hear y-mhpmh”

Jon flinched at the sound of the wood splintering; the side of his face visible in Tim’s shaky footage. There was the start of a terrible scream, and the screen filled with static. There was about 2 minutes of nothing before the video cut back in, revealing the side of Tim’s leg as he ran away.

“Wh-what happened to it? I swear it recorded fine-right? Like? It recorded fine!”

Voices raised and an argument broke out while Jon sat clutching his head. The squealing static wasn’t leaving his head and the image of himself facing that creature like some kind of vengeful god was seared into his brain like a brand. He saw it every time he closed his eyes, and as the noise built around him, he felt something snap.

“Shut up! SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! SHUT! UP!”

Silence.

Jon gulped and his face burned at the sudden attention. He cleared his throat and said, much more calmly, “Clearly, something isn’t right here. We knew that already. Whatever we saw must have messed with the footage, right? At least we know now where they are, and we can get them out of there. I would recommend we go down there now, and get them to explain what the _fuck_ is happening. Ok?”

They stared at him for a few seconds, and Jon sunk a little lower in his chair. What if Tim though that he was already a monster, like the him that was below them at that moment.

Surprisingly enough, it was Martin that first broke the silence, his voice quivering, but doing his best to put on a brave front.

“We should. Let’s just….let’s just go now, and figure out what’s happening.”

Sasha’s face settled into a stiff mask of determination, that age-old British skill of keeping a ‘stiff upper lip’ coming in handy once again, and she threw open the trapdoor. As she marched down, she looked behind her, as if daring them to follow.

And, of course, they did.

* * *

“They’re coming.” Jon piped up against Martin’s side.

“Torches and pitchforks?” Asked Martin with a grin, not taking his white eyes from the roaring flames of the Web table. He was glad to see it gone, and like any good pyromaniac he took a savage pleasure in the crackle of the fire and the smell of burning wood.

Jon laughed, and Martin would maintain until the end of his life that it was one of the most incredible things he’d ever heard.

He rested his head against Jon’s and let himself relax for the first time in a long time. Things might just work out. They had already managed to stop one thing. They’d already changed the timeline, so maybe, just maybe, they could change the world as well.

It was the sound of the approaching footsteps that alerted him to the coming danger, and he tensed up.

“Relax,” said Jon, “It’s time we explained ourselves, at least a little bit.”

Sasha led the group that stormed into the cavern, and Martin teared up, the tears turning to fog and floating away from his eyes, when he saw her. The dark, round face and shoulder length purple braids were so at odds with the image he had of her, a tall, stick thin white woman with cold eyes and long blonde hair. It was so off, and yet so incredible to see the reality of it.

It was also Sasha who walked up to them, brandishing a kitchen knife and demanding an explanation.

“Yes,” Jon agreed, “you do deserve one. And we’re going to give you all one right now. You…..may want to sit down for this one.”

The Compulsion in his voice was so strong that everyone present dropped to the ground like rocks

Jon stood, and Martin felt the statement coming before he heard it, the rising static, sudden tape recorders whirring, and faint green glow of the eyes on his face-all six of them- were the clear giveaways, and when Jon opened his mouth the words spilled out like water.

_Statement of humanity, regarding the world, and the events leading to the end of it. Recorded live by Jonathan Sims, The Beholder._

_Statement Begins._

_It began with a boy, just barely eight years old…_

* * *

_And as he followed the woman into the halls, he swore that he would prevent this hellscape from happening again._

_Statement Ends._

Jon’s eyes lost their glow, and the tapes clicked off.

As he crumpled to the ground, Martin was there to catch him and held him close, murmuring into his hair.

The gathered party woke as if from a daze, and looked around, eyes wide. Tim had bloody half-moons carved into his palms, and Sasha’s face was wet with tears. Martin was the colour of paper, and if Georgie could feel fear she’d be trembling. And Jon. Jon was a mess. He had his hands in his hair, and his throat was dry from sobbing. Blood trickled from his palms and his whole body was shaking.

They all made an attempt to say something, but the words clumped in their throats and chocked them.

How are you supposed to react, when your own death is spat at you like it is just another fact?

How do you react when you are told that you ended the world like it was inevitable?

What do you do when you are told the way the world ends, and that you are part of the reason that it did?

Apparently, you respond by running out of the creepy tunnels and into a strange, sticky web. Tangled in the silver strings, they struggled until they fell unconscious, and Annabelle Cane emerged from the shadows.

“You weren’t ready for it all, yet.” She mused, tiny spiders crawling off her fingers and into their ears. “But you need to know a little.”

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and the Spider worked its magic, tucking away and weaving bridges of knowledge that kept them from the worst of it. All that they had heard was reduced to knowing that these guests meant well, and that they wanted to save their lives. When she was satisfied with her work, she called back her spiders, removed her web, and puppetted them back to the archives.

Jon Watched as this happened and reported everything back to Martin, who nodded and sighed.

“I wish we didn’t have to bring her.”

“Me too, but I didn’t think I’d be able to stop the statement when it came. It had to be like this.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Martin pouted.

“I know what you will like, though….” Teased Jon, tickling him in the ribs.

“Ow, JON, get- get off! What do you- what do you mean?”

Jon grinned wickedly.

“Jonah can’t see us, right?”

“Right….”

“And we have all the Knowledge and Sight that we could need to know about him…..”

“Jonathan William Peter Sims, are you suggesting….?”

“Yes, Martin. Yes I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glitch text says: Archivist....you have made a mistake by releasing us.....
> 
> im not rlly happy with this chapter but its cool you know like not everything is perfect
> 
> sorry about the weird little thing with annabelle he wasn't supposed to tell them yet but jon was like "im talking now" and i was like "ok" and here we are
> 
> ok im sorry yeah i hope you liked this!!


	5. The Loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the world was a concept that Jon never thought he’d have to seriously consider, and now he was staring it down and hoping that it blinked first. The worst part was that when he looked out into it, it was his own face Looking back.

Jonah strode into his office, clutching the freshly made mug of tea his secretary Adam had set out for him. Sitting down in his plush desk chair, he Looked out over his institute and took a sip.

Which he instantly spat out with a furious yell.

It tasted like ginger. Jonah _hated_ ginger. That fool Adam must have got the wrong brand of tea. He spent the whole day trying to get the horrible taste off his tongue, and he was too pissed off to even _work._

Jonah took out his frustration on Adam, and Rosie, and any number of other staff that made the slightest slip up. He found a bitter pleasure in Knowing that Rosie had started crying after he left the room, and he saw that Peter was once again getting divorce papers prepared after Jonah kept texting him over, and over, and over and over again.

But it wasn’t just the tea. The whole day, things seemed to go wrong for him.

He had an allergic reaction to something on his lunch that, for some damned reason, he couldn’t See.

His office was full of webs by 1 o’clock, and it took him an hour to swipe them all away.

The tips of all his expensive pens were snapped, and he. Still. Couldn’t. See.

The ink stain that spread along the far wall of his office looked like a bastardized eye, and for once, the sight didn’t comfort him.

He had thought he might get peace once he got home, but no such luck. As he unlocked the door to his stupidly expensive flat, an electric shock ran into his palm from the key.

Cursing in pain, he Saw the almost invisible very end of a live wire just barely touching the edge of the iron doorknob, and he flicked it away with a snarl, storming inside, only to be greeted with even more misfortune.

Every wall was covered in a terrible smelling mixture of paint, blood, crushed worms, and many other things that he didn’t want to Know. The smell had permeated the whole apartment, and his head spun from the fumes as he realised that it wasn’t just random splashes of paint. They all spelled out his name, his _real name_.

 _Jonah Magnus,_ they proclaimed, on every surface, in layers that would take a lifetime to scrape away.

 _Jonah Magnus_ , they yelled at him as he made his way to his bedroom. If he’d bothered to Look, he would have seen that all of those symbols he bought and turned a million directions to See everything, now faced him, and followed his every step.

He faltered when he saw the final graffiti, splashed onto his ceiling, covering the whole room so he could never escape it.

_We are Watching you, Jonah Magnus. We will never stop Watching you._

Jonah Magnus put his hands to his eyes and fell to his knees. Blood trickled from behind his palms, and when he rose again, he realised that his eyes had lost a portion of their Sight.

The pain of Knowledge being stripped away, of being partially Blinded, was the first branching crack in Jonah’s impeccable armour, and if anyone had walked in at that moment, the bloody tears pouring down the face of this once all-knowing being would have turned them away in an instant.

* * *

“Martin,” Jon slurred, “I’m an all-knowing, all-seeing eldritch being with eyes on almost every available surface, and I’m telling you right now that the best book was ‘The Voyage of The Dawn Treader’.”

“Clearly, you don’t know everything, then,” Martin was just as drunk as Jon, “because the best one was ‘Prince Caspian’!”

_Well, that’s more evidence to support their ‘We’re from the future and we want to save your lives and the world, but we can’t give you any details because it might break your brains’ theory,_ thought Sasha. _Only Jon and Martin would get drunk and argue about Narnia books._

Like the rest of the Archive staff (and Georgie), Sasha was trying not to think too hard about the previous nights’ events. The memory of being told that she was supposed to die in a few months was seared into her skull, and although she didn’t exactly trust them, she trusted their intentions.

But she did wish they’d ease up on the PDA a little. Poor Martin looked like he was about to have a coronary, and Jon had put his head on the bar after the third pet name and had only picked it up to have another drink.

Other Jon and Other Martin, as Sasha had taken to calling them, were the only ones treating this like an actual night out, rather than a drink-to-forget-the-pain session, like the rest of them, and it was extremely surreal to see Jon Sims swirling on the dance floor with Martin Blackwood. His eyes where closed, but he moved as though he saw, regardless of his eyes, and despite everything that was happening, Sasha was glad that Jon had found some measure of happiness, out there in the future.

Even if she didn’t know what he’d sacrificed to get it.

Tim walked quietly out of the bar and sat on a bench outside. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a cigarette and held to his lips. He didn’t smoke often, but he thought that he could definitely justify it this time.

Everything he’d seen, the things he’d heard that night kept playing in his head like a stuck record, the memory of Jon, _his friend Jon_ saying those weird chants, of the yes opening around him, fanning out like peacock feathers, as though they were say there, waiting to make an appearance. Tim couldn’t stop thinking about what it might be like to have them staring at him.

But this Jon couldn’t be all bad, right? That version of Martin cared about him, and they were good together. They fit in a way that Tim never really thought possible, and yet there they were, laughing at some in-joke about ginger tea that he couldn’t work out for the life of him. If his friend was destined to become _that,_ at least there was some hope to found.

After all, Martin had never been subtle with his affections, and Tim had known Jon long enough to notice when his feelings shifted.

But, Tim couldn’t help but wonder, would focusing on that small pinprick of light blind him to the strangers in the shadows? Better to stay suspicious, to keep his guard up.

He was done with losing friends.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for Jon right at that moment. Every glass, every bottle he downed wasn’t quite enough, and every time he looked up there was Martin, or the Other him, or the Other Martin. He couldn’t escape it, and he couldn’t hide from it, and he _couldn’t drink enough._

The end of the world was a concept that Jon never thought he’d have to seriously consider, and now he was staring it down and hoping that it blinked first. The worst part was that when he looked out into it, it was his own face Looking back.

He missed the days when being ‘inhuman’ was a part he played, a role to slip in and out of like a much-loved cardigan. He missed the optimism he’d once had, the hope that eventually everything would work out. He missed feeling like he didn’t matter, because he was starting to realise that the world is a very heavy burden, and it certainly can’t be dropped.

He signed and put the glass to his lips. Maybe this would be the one to knock him out, at last.

But he knew that it wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure how, yet, but he Knew.

He’d always been a sad drunk, the alcohol loosening the harsh grip he had on his feelings and letting them spill out like…. Well, he wanted to say clouds, but the strange hair and eyes of his futuristic counterpart made that description feel…. wrong, somehow. Like it wasn’t enough. Like it didn’t fit.

God, martin was tired of the _wondering._ It’d started when he saw those matching rings. He’d tried to cover it for himself, thinking that they must just be close friends, and they got those as a friendship thing! Because things don’t work out for him, they just don’t, not like that. Of course, it had been hard to turn a blind eye to the numerous kisses he’d watched them share, the tender looks, the murmurs of ‘thank you, love’ when tea was passed. Every single moment twisted the knife into his chest just that little bit deeper, and he became more and more convinced that this couldn’t be his future.

He was Martin Blackwood, after all, and nobody chooses Martin Blackwood.

* * *

How long it had been since he’d been to a bar, Jon didn’t know. Well. He did Know, but he didn’t actually care, and having control over his Knowledge was easily the best result to come from everything that had happened.

He and Martin had had the time of their lives that day, fucking with Jonah in as many ways as they could think of. They even managed to get together enough worms to infest his whole flat in a few minutes, and Annabelle, Helen, and even Michael had been more than willing to chip in. All of the money and effort was well-spent, both of them agreed, because gad knows the bastard deserved it all and more.

But Jon didn’t want to think about Jonah right now. He didn’t want to think about their plan to save the world. All he wanted to do was dance with his husband, and cheat at bar trivia.

So, he did and slowly, slowly, his defences unravelled, and Jon found himself genuinely relaxing.

It wouldn’t last, he Knew this, but he let himself enjoy the moment, and his concerns slipped further and further away with each and every shot.

He was going to need to feed in the morning, but that could wait. Everything could wait, for now, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a great time to mention that I'm Australian and I've never been to London. I have no idea what it looks like or how one goes about navigating it, hence the avoidance of any place names and/or actual scenes in the city. Feel free to drop advice tho, I could rlly use it!
> 
> Also, the no lines for bitchard tag is literal and YES i did a whole section from his POV but i will not let him talk
> 
> side note: edmund was gay, and dawn treader was the best book. I will die on this hill


	6. The Collecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s good. Although, I have to ask- Is the fear like...I don’t know, is it like an energy drink? Like, does it give you more?”
> 
> “Yep,” his Other self joked, “trauma is like a 5-hour-energy, can’t get enough of it. In fact, I might go and pull some out your head right now-I’m still a bit hungry-“
> 
> There was the sound of a wack, and both men dissolved into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FUCKING HATE DIALOUGE BUT THIS CHAPTER HAS LOTS OF IT BUT I H A T E IT

Jon was fucking terrified.

He’d spent days know sneaking around the tunnels, listening to the conversations of the Other him and the Other Martin. Nothing he had heard had done _anything_ to ease his fears about what these people were, and the more he heard the more afraid he got.

He couldn’t even talk to the others about it. Ever since the drinking debacle, Sasha and Martin had been slowly warming up to these Others, making conversation with them in the breakroom, arguing over which martin made better tea, trying to get as much detail from his other self’s vague, cryptic answers. Tim didn’t seem to trust them either, but if he told Tim what he was doing, he’d tell Sasha, and she’d stop him. He couldn’t risk it, not when he was so close to finding out what was happening! Sure, mostly he was hearing them talking about _feelings_ and being safe and away from everything.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

But occasionally he’d get something useful out of them, something that helped him piece together the narrative he was creating, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was like a little dog, being fed safe little titbits that wouldn’t hurt him. It was infuriating, but he couldn’t figure out how to shake the feeling.

 _Maybe you can’t._ whispered his traitorous brain, _you saw all those eyes. He can probably see you right now._

Jon mentally cursed himself for even thinking that. He couldn’t let himself be sucked into _another_ spiral like that, so he forced himself to keep listening to the conversation. There had been nothing for a while, just a faint static, building in the back of his skull like a headache, but then Marti- No. This wasn’t his Martin. The Other Martin-yes, that’s better- spoke up.

“How was dinner, love?”

The Other him hummed, that strange static distorting it momentarily.

“It was… nice. I like not having to eat fear all the time.”

Fabric rustled and there was a moment of silence before Other Martin talked once more, the smile and adoration clear in just his voice.

“That’s good. Although, I have to ask- Is the fear like...I don’t know, is it like an energy drink? Like, does it give you more?”

“Yep,” his Other self joked, “trauma is like a 5-hour-energy, can’t get enough of it. In fact, I might go and pull some out your head right now-I’m still a bit hungry-“

There was the sound of a wack, and both men dissolved into laughter.

Jon swallowed; his throat dry. Eating…. eating fear? Pulling trauma out of people’s heads? That wasn’t- It couldn’t be- It didn’t make _sense,_ and Jon liked things that made sense and none of this _made sense._

He’d always considered himself a sensible man. He was an academic, he liked fitting things into neat boxes and categories, but none of this fit. It didn’t _fucking_ fit and he was _so fucking scared._ Jon checked to make sure that his tape recorder had got the whole conversation and got out of the tunnels. He might not entirely trust the rest of the staff right now, but surely, surely this would prove to them that these Others also couldn’t be trusted. Clearly, they hadn’t told them everything, or, well, _anything,_ really. Clearly, Jon was right here! Clearly, they needed to know what the _hell_ was going on, and they needed to know _now._

Jon ran up and out of the tunnels, crawling through the trapdoor, only to find everyone already standing above it.

Sasha put her hands on her hips and looked at him disapprovingly.

“Hello, Jon. Mind telling us why you’ve creeping around the tunnels like some kind of spy? Oh, and why you didn’t think to mention any of this to us?”

She waved her hand at his desk, and the messy pile of tapes, scribbled notes, and scraps of fabric that he’d ‘accidentally’ torn from the Other’s clothes over the past couple of weeks.

“Ah. Yes. Well. Um. This is… this looks bad, I know but I promise, I’ll explain if you just listen to this-look, see it’s not-they aren’t _human_ and it _can’t be me_ so I’ve been trying to figure out what they are and I think I have a theory just hear me out and-“

* * *

Jon was starting to spiral, Martin realised. Before he fully realised what he was doing, he was at Jon’s side, wrapping an arm around him, lifting him easily out of the trapdoor and trying to calm him down.

The shorter man blinked at him in surprise, his mouth agape with astonishment.

What was wrong with him?

Oh. _Oh._ Martin had just picked him up and deposited him on the desk like a cat! Of course he was freaked out! He probably hated him even more now! God, what _was_ Martin thinking? Just because the Other Jon and Martin were…whatever they were, exactly, didn’t mean that Martin was allowed to-

“Th-thank you, Martin.”

Thank you? Jon never thanked him. Even though he’d been much, much nicer to him the last couple of weeks, hearing such a sincere, genuine thank you from Jon was a shock. His face was practically glowing red, and he squeaked out a response before returning to Tim’s side, leaving Jon on the desk with three sets of eyes trained on him. Martin couldn’t bring himself to look.

* * *

Tim couldn’t say that he blamed Jon for what he was doing. Hell, Tim had been trying to do some research on the side as well. He just wished that Jon had told them about it. They could have _helped him._

 _The stubborn old prick doesn’t want to be helped,_ he thought, _but I’m going to bloody help him whether he wants it or not._

He watched as Martin carried Jon to the desk, and he rose an eyebrow at Sasha and Georgie, who looked just as surprised. Guess that was a thing that happened now. Alright.

“Jon, I agree with you, ok? There’s something that they aren’t telling us. But if you wanted to find out, why didn’t you ask us to help you? What if something happened down there?” Tim tried to keep the anger and fear from his voice.

“But nothing did! You have to hear what I just heard- look, come here and listen, you’ll see-“

Jon was almost fanatical, but Tim was curious, always had been, so he approached. Sasha, Georgie and Martin followed a little more reluctantly, but they gathered around as he pressed play.

* * *

The audio was……unnerving, to say the least.

They all offered potential explanations that weren’t ‘these guys want to open our heads and eat our memories’, but every suggestion was so full of holes that they didn’t even need to shoot it down. After that, they sat in silence for a time, thinking about what they’d heard.

The tension in the room kept getting heavier, and they could swear that there was something watching them, waiting with bated breath to see what they would do. They where reminded of the Other Jon’s unnerving stare, the way he always seemed to be concentrating on something, the bright green eyes that couldn’t be entirely hidden behind those green glasses, and whose neon shade certainly didn’t fit with his brown skin and dark hair.

“We should talk to them. Properly this time. Sit them down, make them tell us what’s going on.”

“Do you really think they would, Georgie? We already tried that and all we got was some cryptic time travel bullshit. What makes you think that they’d say more now?”

“Tim, please. You need to relax. I know that after Danny-“

“No. No. You don’t get to bring him into this, Sash. Danny was- Danny was different. I didn’t know, then, but I do know, and we can’t go running in like idiots!” Tim’s hair was a mess, and he was clutching the mug of cold tea like a lifeline.

“If we want to get anything from them, we have to plan it, and stop them from leaving, and we cant do it in those bloody tunnels. OK? Because there is something about those damn tunnels-“

Jon spoke up next.

“Tim’s right. We’ve all been getting that feeling, haven’t we? Like we’re being watched? Tim and I both saw the Other me destroy that _thing_ and there was definitely plenty of eyes then. For all we know there could be eyes floating behind us right now-we have to take this somewhere else, somewhere that isn’t _here.”_

Martin looked distressed.

“Can’t we give them the benefit of the doubt? They haven’t hurt us or done anything except kill that weird thing in the tunnels! Maybe they really do want to help us? It’s not impossible-they really do seem nice!”

Everyone turned to face him, and Martin shrank a little under their gazes, face burning red again. Shockingly, it was Jon who broke the awkward silence.

“Martin…. I understand were you’re coming from. It’s good that you see the best in people, it really is but there really doesn’t seem to be a better option here.” What he was saying was almost as shocking to Jon himself as it was to the rest of the gathered party. Jon was an expert at repressing feelings, and yet he couldn’t stop that drop of affection from creeping onto his voice.

_Fuck._

Martin deserved better than him, Jon knew that, but right now that wasn’t the point. He couldn’t let himself get distracted from the job at hand by little things like _emotions._

If anyone noticed the exchange, they didn’t comment on it, and Sasha suddenly suggested something.

“The bar!”

“Wh-what?”

“When we were at the bar, it was like they were normal! I didn’t feel watched, like, at all, and if we get them drunk then it’ll be way easier to make them talk!”

It wasn’t a bad idea, and they quickly realised that it might be their best shot at finding out. They just had to invite them out again, and hope that they didn’t already know what they were planning.

* * *

“You could just…. I don’t know…. Tell them what’s happening? I know you love being all cryptic and stuff but-“

“Aww, don’t act like you don’t enjoy it. If we let them do this whole ‘get drunk and tell them’ thing, then I’m pretty sure that things will be much easier. I mean, if I don’t have to waste energy on hiding my eyes, I can find the statements, weak points AND that bitch Jergen Lietner a whole lot faster.” Jon listed them off on his hands as he spoke.

“Ok, ok, I get your point.” Martin chuckled and captured his lips in a quick kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 183 killed me where i stood and it lives in my head rent free  
> [Fabric Rustles]  
> me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> also- over 100 kudos??? thank you all so much??? like?? i never thought this would even get hits??? so thank you all so much
> 
> also also- comments are the only think that keeps my blood pumping so please feel free to leave any criticisms or speculation! id love to hear your thought on my work


	7. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The taller man smiled at him, and his form became more solid. As they walked, Jon found himself getting lost in those strange white eyes. It had been a shock, initially, seeing Martin like this, his colour leached out of him. For a while, the hair had grown out blonde again, but after what happened before they left, it seemed to be staying white. Made sense, he supposed. He was lucky that he only got white hair and strange eyes, and not some less favourable outcomes that come with the lonely.

Other Jon and Martin almost always came out of the tunnels when the workday started. Sometimes they’d stay at the archives, finding random statements and fogging them away to god knows where, or hunting down worms, but other times they’d be gone the whole day, and come back with some strange thing or another, and on one memorable occasion, covered head to toe in mud moaning about burying something.

Today seemed to be a ‘stay in the archives and do cryptic shit’ day, which worked out for their plan. Everyone bar Georgie, who had a date and also ‘another job, Tim. I’ll be with you tonight, but I do have to work!’ was trying to be as natural and friendly as possible, and it seemed to be working. Even Jon was doing a good job at hiding his mistrust being a wall of polite indifference.

It was decided that Tim would suggest drinks, as he usually did before everything, Sasha would convince Other Jon and Martin to come, and Martin would talk Jon into joining them so that everyone was there. The Others didn’t seem to be any the wiser about the plan, acting the way they always did-making tea, finding boxes upon boxes of tapes and statements that they quickly whisked away, gentle touches and small kisses when nobody was really paying attention. They broached the question during the lunch break. They’d taken to all eating together in the break room, to keep an eye on the Others, and now it was coming in handy once again.

“So,” said Tim, cheerfully, “It’s Friday night, and it’s been a long week. What do you say we have another Archives Drinking Night (Trademark)?”

There was agreement from Sasha and Martin, and it was all going exactly how they’d rehearsed it. Other Jon and Martin were having a conversation without saying a word, which they did all the time, and Sasha did her duty admirably.

“Are you guys in? You’re a part of the archives as much as the rest of us- we want you there!” It wasn’t a total lie. They were, technically, part of the archives, mostly because they seemed to always be there, and they did want them there… just not for a fun-filled night of drinking and dancing.

There was moment of consideration before Other Martin agreed for the both of them, and it was done. Now they just had to pull off the act of ‘convincing’ Jon to go. That was Martin’s job.

“So… Jon? Um, are you coming? I- WE! I meant we, would love to have you there!” It was awkward, and Martin’s face was rapidly heating up. Another point for realism. They didn’t know if Jon was blushing, but he was worrying at his knuckle, hiding his face away.

“Ok- yes, I will. I would love to join you, Martin. Thank you for the invite.” He spoke stiffly, formally, exactly how pre-Others Jon would have responded to such an invitation. It was perfect. The plan had gone off without a hitch, and they were finally going to get some answers.

* * *

“SHOTS!” Called Tim as soon as they walked through the door.

Sasha groaned. “We can’t do shots at 6 in the evening!”

“We can if we aren’t little bitches, Sasha my darling!”

The pub they’d chosen was almost totally empty, and about half an hour from Georgie’s apartment, AKA where they would go after the Others were significantly drunk enough. Tim had been putting up a good act. If Sasha didn’t know any better, she’d actually believe that he trusted them.

“Is Georgie here yet?” Asked Martin, only to be answered by Georgie herself wrapping him in a hug and whispering in his ear.

“Do they know anything?” He patted her twice on the back, the code they had for ‘no’ and she pulled away.

“I agree with Tim. Shots it is!”

* * *

3 hours later, Other Jon and Martin were doing a wonderful job at playing drunk. Everything they were handed to drink was tossed onto the floor or into an inconspicuous plant, but a certain level of dramatic effect made it easy to fake being pissed out of their heads. When Jon Saw the signal the others had prepared for them to go to Georgie’s, he alerted Martin, and they stumbled over, leaning on each other and laughing loosely.

“Jon! Martin!” Tim enthused, “Just the men we were looking for. Georgina here wants us to go back to hers to watch a movie. You want in?” Despite his best efforts, Jon recognised a hardness to his tone that, had he not already had a plan himself, would have scared him. He nodded drunkenly and followed them out into the night, clinging to Martin’s arm as they went. He could practically taste Martin’s fear and anxiousness in the air, and his whole body was getting less defined at the edges, like he was wisping away. Which, to be fair, he was, but the metaphor still stood.

 _Hey,_ Jon whispered into his mind, careful to not hurt or See anything he shouldn’t, _it’s going to be ok. Don’t go melting into the fog again, Martin. I’ve got you. I’ve got you._

The taller man smiled at him, and his form became more solid. As they walked, Jon found himself getting lost in those strange white eyes. It had been a shock, initially, seeing Martin like this, his colour leached out of him. For a while, the hair had grown out blonde again, but after what happened before they left, it seemed to be staying white. Made sense, he supposed. He was lucky that he only got white hair and strange eyes, and not some less favourable outcomes that come with the lonely.

He still remembered Basira’s face as she was twisted into a form more befitting of her…. _patron,_ the agony that cracked her features, and the way he could feel everything she did still flickering across his mind, in perfect HD. Helen had almost been worse off, her normally abstract features changing and splitting into something that was unrecognisable as any one shape, tearing into millions of smaller versions of that same being, endless hordes of them filling the hallways behind her and dispersing into the world like baby spiders on their silk strings. And speaking of spiders… Annabelle’s head was already barely containing them, and the webs tore easily, spilling out all around her as she screamed in agony. The new, bony limbs bursting from her back didn’t help, and her face bled and dissolved with the acid from her new fangs. He Knew what had happened to the others, the closest ones in that damned world, but those memories where seared into his mind forever. It almost didn’t seem fair. They all had such horrible transformations, and Jon? Jon just got…. well, also strange eyes, but his were a significantly different level of strange to Martin’s foggy white.

He chewed his knuckle and flicked his sweaters arm away from his shoulder, letting it settle in a different position. The fabric was starting to irritate his eyes. Why supernatural, all-seeing eyes could get irritated Jon couldn’t figure out for the life of him, but at least he didn’t need glasses anymore. Jonah had kept his on, at least until the end, but that seemed to be more to fit his ‘Evil Academic King of The Wasteland’ look. Regardless of what he was now, Jon had never been one for the dramatic.

 _Liar._ His mind supplied him with images of him in full Johnny D’ville get-up, screaming his heart out on stage.

Ok, maybe he was a little dramatic.

* * *

While Jon had been lost in thought, they’d arrived at Georgie’s, and were in the lift going up. They got into the flat, and the door was locked behind them. The others ushered them into the living room and forced them down, the false trust and happiness long gone. In one hand, Tim held a kitchen knife, and the other was clenched into a tight fist. Sasha had no weapon, but Jon Knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to throw punches if the need arose. He blinked calmly at them; his act forgotten as much as theirs. Martin was next to him, and their hands intertwined as they waited for the question.

“Tell us what is going on. Properly, this time.”

Jon sighed, and leant back against Martin once again, cementing his humanity and his anchor.

A deep breath.

He opened his mouth, and began to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i got caught up in being vague and cryptic again   
> OVER 1000 HITS GUYS HOLY SHIT THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME YALL DON'T EVEN KNOW


	8. The Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They need some time.” He whispered to Martin, and they drifted together into the fog, leaving behind the tape recorder. He Knew that they would want to hear it all again, to try and make sense of the information he had dumped on them all at once. He had left out the worst of it by far, and now he could only hope that they would come to understand.

“I’m going to start from the beginning, and do my best to explain it all at once.” Said Jon. He leant back against Martin, and began his story. There was no statement, no glowing eyes fanning out around them. Just a man, telling a story.

* * *

Have any of you heard of Robert Smirke? Yes? Good. And have any of you heard of Smirke’s 14? I thought as much.

To put it simply, there are 14 categories of fear, human and animal, and pretty much everything fits into these. However, they are not simply classifications. The 14 Fears are also entities that exist adjacent to our world. They feed on the fear of their respective domain. Some have called them gods, which isn’t the most apt descriptor, as they have no investment or interest in our world beyond the fear that they feed off, but it may be the closest we have to an actual depiction of them.

Now, these fears are extremely powerful, but they cannot enter our world, at least, not alone, so they have Avatars who serve them and collect fear to keep them feed. I myself, and Martin, are Avatars. I _serve_ the Eye, or the Beholding, the Ceaseless Watcher-it has many names- which is, broadly, the fear of being watched, of none of your secrets no longer being secret. Martin _serves_ the Lonely. I’m sure you can figure out what it is on your own. Even though Avatars are the most powerful of the Fears servants, many others can serve a Fear without being fully drawn into it. The Institute is a trap designed to lure in servants for the Eye, and to keep it fed. Sasha and Tim were both…you were both killed by different variations of the Stranger, an entity that deals in identity and the lack thereof.

All of you became unintentionally tethered to the Eye when you signed the employment contract….and you can’t quit. Or be fired. In the future, Elias Bouchard tricked me into… well, he tricked me into letting all the fears through into the world at once because he’s actually the founder of the institute, Jonah Magnus, who’s been body hopping for decades. Martin and I have come back to stop that from happening and save everyone. Any questions?

* * *

There was silence for a brief moment before the room erupted, shouts and questions bouncing off the walls and twisting into fear that soared into Jon’s mind before he really even registered it. He shut his brain and clicked off the tape he’d accidentally summoned.

“They need some time.” He whispered to Martin, and they drifted together into the fog, leaving behind the tape recorder. He Knew that they would want to hear it all again, to try and make sense of the information he had dumped on them all at once. He had left out the worst of it by far, and now he could only hope that they would come to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is a really short update BUT i may be finished the next one by tonight so theres that at least??? anyway i hope you like it  
> EDIT: i just did a word count and its less than 500 words??? im so sorry guys wow


	9. The Sceptic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did you want to talk about, Jon?”
> 
> The question that had been on the back of tongue ever since it all began was suddenly spilling out of his mouth.
> 
> “Are we still human?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha i told yall id have another one out soon

The arguing and yelling continued until Martin noticed the now empty and slightly damp couch.

“Um, guys? Guys, hello! GUYS!”

The shouting stopped abruptly, and they all turned to Martin, noticing the same things he had.

“Those sons of bitches! They can’t just drop that on us and ditch! I have so many questions-I’m going back to the institute right now-“

“No you aren’t, Tim. We are all going to go back home, and we are going to sleep, and in the morning, we will go back, and we talk about how we can help them.”

Tim was shocked. “You believe that crap? I thought you were smarter than this, Sasha!”

“I believe them as well.” Georgie’s voice was strained, and close to tears, but it still held that presence that had made her such a hit as Ivy Alexandria, and later on her podcast. “Nobody could lie about that stuff. It’s so unrealistic that it _has_ to be true.”

“Besides,” added Martin, “I’ve tried- I’ve tried to quit, to hand in my notice and wash my hands of the whole thing, but I- I just _can’t._ Surely, you’ve all felt that? Anytime you consider leaving it’s like you’re being tugged back, no matter what? And…. They look like they’ve been through their fair share of trouble. It just fits too well to be fake.”

“Damnnit Martin, can you stop being right? I just want to be angry!”

He was putting on a brave face, but anyone who knew Tim could see the cracks in his polished plastic veneer. Tim Stoker was afraid, and when he was afraid, he got angry. But he couldn’t keep it up forever, and as much as he didn’t want to, he believed them. He’d seen the scars, the way they carried themselves, the bond that could only be forged that strong by making it through hell and back together. He wanted to help, but he couldn’t do that tonight. In the morning he could, but right now he wasn’t ready.

Sasha was ready to help. She had know that these men had been through so much, that was clear in every aspect of their behaviour, but now that she had some context and some information that wasn’t presented as a riddle, she was more than willing to assist however she could. She’d always been the all-in type, throwing herself into projects or work she was passionate about, that she felt could help people. Saving the world, she decided, was a good use of energy. Don’t get her wrong, she was still scared. Terrified beyond belief, actually, but that certainly wasn’t going to stop her from making her mark. Someone, somewhere, would remember Sasha James.

Fear and loneliness had been a part of Martin’s life for as long has he could remember. Finding out that the future him served an entity of it? It made sense. It hurt, and it was scary as hell, but it made sense. And yet, this Other Martin didn’t seem Lonely at all. He was bright, and happy, and talked to everyone with so much joy in his voice that it was hard to not like talking to him. That is, when he talked. As Martin silently thought it over, it occurred to him that the Other Martin rarely said a word to them. Sure, he would answer questions and make genuine conversation, but he seemed so comfortable with silence that you could almost swear it was he himself creating it. And it may well have been, if he truly served a god of loneliness. Martin didn’t want to be his future, and if he didn’t want that, then he had to help them stop it. And he would.

Georgie wanted out. She wanted gone, she wanted nothing to do with any of this. But she couldn’t do it. She may not have been bound to the institute, but Jon was her friend, and had been for a long time. She wasn’t going to abandon him now. Neither of them. The others, Tim, and Sasha and Martin, they all deserved as much help as they could get, and she had plenty to offer. She wasn’t afraid, per se, but there was a tension in her body that reminded her of a spring tightened as much as it could go, ready to explode with the slightest bump. The energy had to go somewhere, and saving the world was as good a place as any.

Jon didn’t want to admit to himself that he believed it, any of it. Scepticism always seemed safer, pretending that the things bumping in the night weren’t really there, that they could be explained away with logic, and neat little boxes he could file away and forget about. But playing the sceptic hadn’t stopped Martin from being hunted by a worm monster. It hadn’t stopped this Other him from falling into his life and turning everything upside down. It hadn’t, apparently, saved Sasha or Tim. He didn’t want to admit that he was wrong, or that he was scared, but if he could talk to himself, then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out a way to help.

* * *

Jon and Martin waited in the Institute for the arrival of the others.

They could have Known what to expect, but this was something that they deserved to puzzle out for themselves, without Jon’s eyes on them. If they decided to help, things would be much, much easier, but if they didn’t well… never let it be said that the two men weren’t creative. They’d figure something out.

“They’re here.”

“Right on cue, the door creaked open, and they all stood, heads high, faces set in masks of grim determination.

“We want to help. Just tell us how.”

“Umm, actually, before that- can…can I talk to you, Jon? In private, if you don’t mind?” Jon walked over to his office, and gestured at the door. He felt that weird sensation of being scrutinised from every angle, and then the Other him nodded and followed him inside.

“What did you want to talk about, Jon?”

The question that had been on the back of tongue ever since it all began was suddenly spilling out of his mouth.  
“Are we still human?”

The Other Jon looked sad, like this was something he’d wanted to avoid. It took him a long time to say anything, and that itself answered his question.

“No. No, I’m not. Haven’t been for a while, actually. But you….you still have hope. You aren’t… _reliant_ on the eye yet. If we succeed, and we get you out on time, then you would stay human. Most likely.”

It was better news than he had hoped to get, and he felt his heart soar on fluttering wings of hope. He wasn’t a monster, not yet.

“How long do I have?”

Another wince passed over his doubles face, and he regretted the question immediately.

“…. not long. I’m not sure, exactly, but if we play our cards right we just might make it before-“

He was cut off by a cracking, squelching noise coming from the wall. The Other Jon’s eyes opened wide, wider than he’d ever seen, and he pulled Jon from his chair, throwing him to the door.

“RUN!”

And even as he said the words, the wall collapsed in on itself and a tidal wave of worms came towards them at top speed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK I HATE FUCKING WORMS BUT IT'S LIKE IMPORTANT TO THE STORY OR WHATEVER SO NOW I HAVE TO WRITE ABOUT THOSE SLIMY SONS OF BITCHES


	10. The Worms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim, Sasha, Martin and Jon had seen the worms. They’d heard their awful song, and they had run. They tore out of the archives and ran to the safest place they could think of- Artefact storage. The heavy steel doors were designed to keep some truly horrible things in, and they would, hopefully, keep the worms out.
> 
> If they weren’t there already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i hate worms

The writhing, surging mass was coming too fast, and they weren’t going to get out on time. The door was open, but they weren’t going to make it, they weren’t going to make it, they weren’t going it make- 

Other Jon forced the door shut with a loud bang, and turned to the others.

“Prentiss.” He breathed, ragged and panting, and Other Martin jumped into action, clutching a fire extinguisher that was under the table. He ordered them to run, to get out and hide somewhere, anywhere, and they didn’t hesitate.

Meanwhile, Martin turned back to Jon, who had his back against the shaking door, all his strength keeping it shut against the rising flood. Jane Prentiss’ voice echoed out of the room; the thoughts of millions of worms given a microphone.

“Let us in. Let us in. Let us in.” The same three words, over and over and over, like a chant.

“Are you ready, Martin?” Jon’s was strained, the effort of holding the door taking a toll on him.

“Let’s do it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The door swung open and hit the wall with such force that the glass pane cracked, and the worms were free. They spread over the floor like a disgusting carpet, and Martin sprayed wildly. They screamed as one when they withered and died, and Prentiss herself, overseeing from the doorway, launched at them. She tackled Jon to the ground and screamed at him, worms spilling out of her eyes and mouth like water and landing all over his face and arms.

“JON!” Hollered Martin, abandoning the mat of worms he was up against. As soon as the threat was gone, they dispersed, leaving only the black, twisted corpses, and Jane.

Jon coughed and forced himself to speak around the worms burrowing into his throat. They wouldn’t get far enough to hurt him, but it still hurt like his throat was being burrowed into by worms. Which it was.

“Go…. Get the… others…keep….them…safe.” He pushed the next words gently into Martin’s mind.

_I’ll be ok, darling. Protect them. I love you._

Martin nodded, and ran out of the room.

Jon turned his attention back to Prentiss, still spewing worms into his eyes and throat like it was her job. No matter. He’s killed worse than her, and he could do it again, if he could just get her off him. He kicked up at her, grabbed her wrist and flipped her off of him. She landed on the ground with a squelch and a wail that echoed around the whole archive. Jon stood quickly, and nearly fell just as fast, thousands of shallow holes all over his body. The worms died and fell out before they got deep, but the holes stayed open for some time, leaking blood. He coughed up lungsful of worms, dead and alive, and tried to begin his work, but the words wouldn’t come. Blood poured out of his mouth as he realised that his tongue was little more than a bloody sliver of muscle, eaten away. It would take almost half and hour to recover enough to use it, he Knew. He had to hold her off that long, and hope that Martin found the button on time.

 _Come on, you wormy bitch._ He forced the words into her mind, no regard for her pain or comfort, and they began to fight once more.

* * *

Tim, Sasha, Martin and Jon had seen the worms. They’d heard their awful song, and they had run. They tore out of the archives and ran to the safest place they could think of- Artefact storage. The heavy steel doors were designed to keep some truly horrible things in, and they would, hopefully, keep the worms out.

 _If they weren’t_ _there already._

But they didn’t get there on time. The worms were at their feet and they were forced into a tiny room, falling to the ground, the horrible creatures writhing towards them with slow, malicious intent. They thought they’d already won, Jon realised. They thought that they could take their time, and get four fresh, new hives to take over and eat from the inside out. Before he fully knew what he was doing, he grabbed Martin’s arm and held on tight. He was going to die. He was going to die, and Martin was there next to him and he probably didn’t want Jon clinging to him like that, but he was _so scared-_

But then there were arms around him. Warm, soft safe arms around him, and he could swear that he felt the gentle press of lips to his hair. Jon felt some worms crawling up his leg and beginning to burrow in, but he turned his face into Martin’s sweater and let the other man hold him tightly. Next to them, Tim and Sasha sat together, holding hands and whispering to each other through the tears. When the crawling mass finally reached them, they kissed, slow and sweet, before turning to face their fate.

The worms rose up in a wave to crash upon them and seal their ending, but when they fell, they were nothing more than blackened carcasses. Other Martin stood above them, clutching a new, full fire extinguisher, grim faced and white knuckled. His white hair was steaked with dust, and the salty smell that always clung to him was almost suffocating.

“Did any of them get you?” He sounded genuinely concerned, and Jon raised his hand weakly.

“Some in my leg…” he murmured into Martin’s shoulder, before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

He woke up to agonising pain in his calf and the hand he’d had on the ground, and looked up to see Sasha and Other Martin attacking the worm holes with corkscrews, while Tim sprayed worms frantically behind them.

He screamed, and then he realised that Martin was there, holding his hand and running his thumb over his knuckles. The tenderness of it, the simple affection made his heart swell and stick in his throat, choking him with emotions he couldn’t quantify or explain. It could have been the Co2 inhalation, or the shock of being eaten by worms, but it took all his strength to not tell Martin that he loved him right then and there.

* * *

Jon had Jane pinned under the desk by her neck, and he fought off worms valiantly as he waited for his tongue to regrow. It hurt like all hell, and he kept accidentally biting it as he battled to keep her trapped until he could stop her. He checked on Martin, and saw him in a small side room, tending to his past self with Sasha while Tim went apeshit with an extinguisher. He was ok, thank god, but he might not stay that way for long. He had to take out Prentiss and pull the fire alarms, and he had to do it fast.

He felt the last section of muscle recover and finally, _finally,_ he could begin. He grinned wickedly, covered in blood and holes, and began to Speak.

The neon green eyes fanned out around him in an unblinking kaleidoscope, all focused directly on Prentiss, who writhed and screamed under the intense gaze. The creatures piloting her body made and attempt to escape but found themselves trapped within the glowing cage that Jon had built. Static buzzed louder and louder, matched by the whirring of a thousand tape recorders, always ready, always documenting, always listening. Wind whipped through the archives, and Jon’s voice was loud, and clear.

“Upon you I turn my Gaze! I See you, and I Know you! Know the fear you spread! Know the Corruption! Watch and be Watched!”

Prentiss’ dying wail was taken up by the billions of worms all throughout the institute, and the haunting noise would echo in the ears of those unfortunate enough to hear it for a long, long time.

It was done. Jane Prentiss was no more. The room slowly became quiet, every worm fried by the proximity of the Beholder’s power. Jon had to go. He had to pull the fire alarm, and he had to do it fast.

He Saw Tim running out of Co2, and the worms were angry now. They would stop at nothing to get revenge on anyone who had a hand in losing them their _hive._

So, he ran. He ran up and out of the Archive, Looking for what he needed- There! An inconspicuous hallway, a special button in the wall, inserted by Jonah the first-time round. He couldn’t See it. He didn’t Know what was happening. He had no idea that everything had worked for was falling apart right beneath his eyes, and Jon pushed the button with so much force that it very nearly cracked.

He Watched them turn on, and Saw every single worm shrivel and die as the Co2 spread. When he was sure that the others were out and safe, he began to smile, wide and slightly unnerving as it twisted his features, and he turned to the only camera in the lonely hall, a video feed going directly to Jonah’s office. He Looked into it, corrupting and destroying the footage with ease, but he wanted to leave a little parting gift for the bastard.

“FUCK YOU, JONAH MAGNUS!”

And with that, he left the hallway.

* * *

Jon had hugged him.

Jon had turned to him and let him kiss his head and Jon had wanted his last moments with him. With Martin.

He could argue that it was just shock, fear, whatever else he could think of, but that only explained what had happened in that little room. They were out, now. Sitting in the front of the institute, surrounded by ambulances, fire trucks and police cars, waiting for everyone to be taken care of, Jon was still next to him, sitting so close he could feel his heartbeat. The paramedics had seen the mess they’d made of Jon’s calf and hand, and managed to salvage it with some gauze and bandages. They were more concerned about blood loss, but he seemed to be recovering fine, and the tight hold he had on Martin’s hand wasn’t lessening. He still hadn’t spoken, answering questions with nods, or shaking his head. The silence had become comfortable, when Jon finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, Martin.”

“Wh-what? Why?”

The shorter man hung his head.

“Everything. This. The way I treated you, the way I acted when all of this started. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m really sorry.”

Martin didn’t know how to respond. Jon was here, next to him, and he was apologising, and he meant it. Martin’s heart had always beat a little faster when Jon was near, but this was insane. He could feel his face heating up, and he wanted to pull the man closer.

“I lied on my CV.” Martin blurted suddenly.

What? Why would he say that? God, Jon would actually hate him now. _Stupid, Martin. You had a moment, and you blew it. Typical-_

Jon looked confused.

“What?”

“I don’t have a degree. I didn’t even finish high school, actually. Nowhere… nowhere would hire me and I got desperate.”

“Really? I’ve been- I thought that- You’ve doing the work you do without any experience? All this time I’ve been reading them thinking that you had a degree and years of experience!”

Now it was Martin’s turn to be confused.

“I’m…. sorry?” He offered up hesitantly, unsure how to respond to this. Jon tried to stand, but the weight on his leg was too much and he fell back into Martin’s arms with a curse.

“No- No it’s good! You’ve been doing incredibly well for someone with none of that! It-“ He stood and fell again, giving up and sitting back down with a huff, that, despite the situation, Martin found _adorable._ “I’m…. I’m proud of you, Martin. Really.”

And that was the breaking point. It was too much. The soft tone, the hope, the words behind those that Martin was so sure he was imagining. He couldn’t keep it up, so he did what he far too often. He ran.

“Thank you, Jon.” And the moment passed, two men sitting too close together on a curb, neither sure how to bridge the gap as sirens wailed in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fucking hell i had fun killing that slimey motherfucker jane prentiss  
> stuoid idiot motherfucking jane prentiss  
> ALSO! we are halfway there! i've stuck with this for way longer than i ever thought i would, and a big part of that is becuase of you guys! everytime i see a new message in my inbox or see that the amount of hits or kudos has increased, it just inspires me to keep going! so thank you all so much-it means more than you could ever know❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤


	11. The After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I should have stopped her sooner…” The words caught in his throat, the guilt choking him, reminding him of the attack, of his abilities being useless as his friends, his family cowered in a storage closet. He hadn’t realised how reliant he was on his power, on his abilities, and being so powerless had been terrifying. He could still See, and Know, but not having access to his own Eyes? That was unnerving in a way that shouldn’t have been possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo filler episode time sorry guys

The days that followed Prentiss’ attack on the Institute were a whirlwind of tests, doctors, exterminators and professional cleaners. The worms were taken away to be studied by some unfortunate scientist somewhere, and the heavily stained carpet was entirely replaced. Nobody was allowed into the Institute while they cleaned and cleared out the whole place, and Jonah was fuming.

Jon and Martin had gone back to the tunnels after the alarm was pulled, and had been down there the whole time. Jon would Watch the events happening above, and relay the information to Martin like a radio host. When Martin told him so, Jon groaned.

“I’m not a radio-that Cecil guy, the Voice, over in America covers _that._ I just want to check on everyone.”

“Check on, spy on- same shit, different smell, darling.”

“Don’t talk about smells with me, Martin. Those dying worms are going to haunt me forever. How could I have been so stupid? I should have Known when she was going to attack! This whole plan was to save them and-“

“Jon.” Martin placed a hand on his shoulder, icy-cold but reassuring, and drew his husband into a hug. “It wasn’t your fault. You knew when we did this that there was a risk, and nobody died. That’s the main thing, here.”

Jon moved closer to his husband and wrap his arms around him more. He’d been holding it together for a few days at this point, but it was all falling apart now, wrapped safe in Martin’s arms, inhaling his salty ocean smell and adding to it with his own tears.

“I should have stopped her sooner…” The words caught in his throat, the guilt choking him, reminding him of the attack, of his abilities being useless as his friends, his _family_ cowered in a storage closet. He hadn’t realised how reliant he was on his power, on his abilities, and being so powerless had been terrifying. He could still See, and Know, but not having access to his own Eyes? That was unnerving in a way that shouldn’t have been possible.

He didn’t know how to communicate all of this to Martin, he didn’t have the words, and he was once again frustrated at his failure to communicate.

How could it be that he Knew everything, and yet can’t Know what to say to explain his feelings? And yet Martin, wonderful, loving, beautiful Martin seemed to guess anyway, because he got a blanket and wrapped it around the two of them. His naturally cold state didn’t matter to Jon, and they cuddled together, content to be together in a way that was almost normal. Almost.

* * *

Martin didn’t want to go back to his apartment. He didn’t think he could, anyway, so he gave the landlord 3 months’ rent and told him to keep it. Of course, that meant he didn’t have a place to stay, so he got a hotel room.

When he mentioned this to Jon at one of the lunches they’d taken to having together, the man had been aghast.

“You can’t live in a hotel, Martin! Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve got a spare room you can use!”

Jon was insistent, and so there he was, standing in the spare room of Jon’s remarkably empty flat, with a bag of clothes and the few bits and pieces he’d taken from his old place. It was surreal, thinking that Jon was in the room just next door, sleeping, or reading, or whatever he did at night, and the idea of _living_ with Jon? Scary as hell. What if he caught Martin recording one of his poems? Little difficult to pretend that ‘salt and pepper hair, he sits at the desk, always hard at work, the beauty of the archives’ isn’t about him.

But. Jon had a _sked_ him to move in here. He’d let him into the most private space of his life, given him a soft blanket that Martin was sure had been handknitted, and told him to make himself at home.

A home with Jon? That was a strange concept, and Martin did his damndest to ignore the way his heart jumped at the thought.

At least it wasn’t the Institute. Small mercies, he supposed.

And the bed was _much_ more comfortable.

* * *

An idiot. That’s what he was.

What in the fresh hell had he been thinking, offering Martin his spare room? Just because they were sort-of friends now didn’t mean that Martin wanted to _live_ with him!

But no, Jon had gone and offered a place to stay and insisted that he take it, and now Martin was in his spare room unpacking his things.

He smacked his forehead.

_Stupid, Jon. You’ve scared him off, now. You had a good thing going with him and now he’s going to see how much of a mess you are and he’s going to move out. Stupid, stupid, Jonathan._

The soft sounds of another person moving around his apartment were things Jon hadn’t heard in a very long time, and the sound was odd, yet… comforting.

He found his mind wandering to that sort of thing being around all the time, kettles boiling as Martin made tea in the morning, feet shuffling before climbing into bed at night-

No. No, he couldn’t risk this, this tentative friendship they had now. He had to be content, he had to be satisfied with what he was given.

If only he could.

* * *

Jonah paced around his second flat, just as expensive and ridiculous as the first, fuming and frustrated. He tried to force his Sight out, Looking desperately for anything worth Seeing, but he was coming up empty. His range was suddenly limited. Anything outside London was gone, lost to him in a haze of static. He tried to See Jon, his Archive, his crowning glory who would bring about his perfect world and he _couldn’t fucking See him._

Jonah roared with rage and threw a terribly expensive vase at the wall, swearing and screaming like a manic, and the tears that fell unwanted from his eyes were tinted red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it do be very soft tho ngl  
> those of you who have heard 184, thoughts?? it was intense, yes? the forshadowing was..... hmmmmm


	12. The Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That is not the normal number of eyes.” Observed Tim. It was the first thing he’d said that day, and it somehow broke something in all of them, and a second later, everyone was laughing. It was a little strange, and certainly unexpected, but it was needed. 

It took almost a month to get everything at the Institute back to the strange semblance of normal they were used to, and everyone was genuinely excited to get back to work.

Everyone except the archives gang. Their feet dragged, and no amount of plastic smiles and forced laughter with their colleagues could quite cut through the air of gloom and frustration that hung over them like lead blankets on the first day back.

“Did you see Timothy Stoker? He looks……”

“Hot as hell?”

“No! He looks like a mess! All of the ones down there do! Apparently, the infestation was mostly down there, so it’s no wonder, but its been a month, already.”

They pretended not to hear the whispers and made their way down to the archive as fast as they could.

Other Jon and Martin greeted them one by one until they all stood in Jon’s office, waiting for instruction, or information, or literally anything.

The Others looked like it’d been a hard few weeks. Other Jon sat bundled in Other Martins arms like a cat, blinking at them with-

“That is not the normal number of eyes.” Observed Tim. It was the first thing he’d said that day, and it somehow broke something in all of them, and a second later, everyone was laughing. It was a little strange, and certainly unexpected, but it was needed. 

* * *

20 minutes.

They were laughing on and off for 20 minutes. Whenever they thought they had it under control, someone would do something and set them off.

It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected from finally revealing his eyes, but it also hadn’t been in his list of things to do that morning. He and Martin had spent their time in the tunnels working out their next step, and they’d decided that they were going to need Basira. They couldn’t exactly just call her and say ‘hi we need your help to do something extremely illegal and dangerous’, so Jon had Known that there was a servant of the Stranger at the station. If they got Basira to take them there, and then he smote it in front of her, then that should be evidence enough.

Unfortunately, they’d also agreed that any future actions should be undertaken after telling everyone else. He still wasn’t ready to tell them what had happened in the Panopticon, but honesty was the best policy, as Martin kept reminding him.

Hence the eyes, and the laughing.

“Excuse me?” He hated to interrupt, god knows happiness was something they needed down here, but it was rather important that they did this as soon as possible.

Sasha turned her attention to him, tear tracks on her cheeks from her now controlled mirth, and got Martin and Tim to do the same.

Jon clambered down from Martin’s grip and stood as tall as he was able.

“Martin and I are getting arrested.”

The shouting that followed that sentence was almost worse than the laughing, but Martin managed to make them shut up, in that deceptively quiet way of his that Jon loved so much. As he explained the plan, and Basira’s role in their timeline (minus a few details), Martin let his fog swirl out, it’s nature changed by the gifts he had now, creating a bubble of quiet in the room, calming everyone and letting them relax into the story Jon shared.

Helen had told them that they balanced each other well, which, coming from her, could have been an insult, but Jon genuinely wasn’t sure. It was times like this, though, that he thought she might have been right.

“Any questions?”

The fog cleared, and Tim groaned.

“You have _got_ to stop asking that after you tell us things like this. Obviously, we have questions, but you, Jon-with-too-many-eyes, don’t answer them.”

Tim was right, of course. But he couldn’t bring himself to answer the question they all kept asking.

_What happened to you, Jon?_

That was the question that echoed around the archives every day, the question that followed him like a bad smell.

He would tell them, soon. But not yet. He couldn’t do it yet.

* * *

“This was a terrible idea!” Shrieked Martin as they tore around the corner of the alleyway. He didn’t like running, never had, but this? This was even worse.

Basira was hot on their heels, and his hands were full of spray paint. He was this close to dropping into the Lonely with Jon and forgetting the whole situation when he heard his husband call his name.

“Stop here!”

They ground to a stop, and Basira stopped as well, barely even winded. Martin didn’t even _breathe_ anymore, and he could swear he was having an asthma attack, like he used to before all of this. Simpler times, when he wasn’t being arrested for vandalism by a terrifying woman alongside the love of his life.

Simpler times, sure, but they were infinitely more boring. He squeezed Jon’s hand, careful not to hurt the eye on his palm, and prepared for the next hour.

Turns out, police cars are not as fun to ride in as they look.

And police stations are even less so.

As Martin sat in the holding cell with Jon, he elbowed him and pointed to his ankle. Talking wasn’t easy anymore, but he didn’t really need it. They understood each other fine, and Jon chuckled as he recalled the ACAB stick and poke Martin had done himself, about 7 years ago. It was faded and spotty, and had hurt like hell when Jon, Basira and him had redone it, and did their own, but it was a good excuse to hear Jon chuckle.

Ever since Prentiss, he’d been growing more and more nervous about things not working, retreating into his own head, trying to See every connection and link them together so he could Know what to do. It wasn’t healthy, but Martin was an expert at pulling him carefully out of it by now. Just like Jon could keep him from dissolving altogether in difficult situations.

It was like Helen had said- they were balanced.

It was at that moment that Basira entered, alongside the head of the precinct.

_Perfect._

This was the Stranger that had infiltrated the station, and there was Basira. All Jon had to do was destroy it, and then explain what was going on.

It seemed that Jon had realised this as well, and was preparing to do just that.

He stood, and the air hummed with static, growing steadily louder as it bounced off the concrete walls. The Strangers’ eyes widened as it realised what was happening, but before it could voice its protests, Jon was speaking over it.

“I Gaze upon this thing before me! You are Known! You are Seen! There is nowhere you can hide! Feel the fear you crave so much! Watch, and be Watched!”

With a last scream, the Stranger crumbled under Jon’s Gaze, and it was done.

He caught Jon out of the air and turned to Basira, awaiting her verdict.

* * *

“What the _hell_ was that?”

Basira was Sectioned. She wasn’t an idiot, and she knew that there were things out there that weren’t human, but that had been something more. This guy had, what? Summoned a million neon green eyes and killed Captain Parker? That wasn’t something she’d ever seen.

Should she call Daisy? No. She loved her, but this…. Basira needed answers, and Daisy wouldn’t hesitate to _take care_ of them before she got anything useful.

They would tell her what just happened, and she would give them a chance.

She crossed her arms, and waited for them to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basira!! i missed u bby
> 
> also just realised that i like....,, forgot about jergen?? yea lets just pretend that gerry killed him that time bc i want gerry to have nice things and theres nothing nicer than that


	13. The Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jon. We can handle this. We’re big kids now. Just…. Just get it over with.”
> 
> Other Jon nodded, and somewhere, a tape clicked on.

Jon hadn’t wanted to push his luck, so he told Basira their modified version of the story from inside the cell. When he was done, he waited for her to pass judgement.

“Bullshit.”

That was…. Not unexpected. Even to someone like Basira, the story had to sound unbelievable. If he hadn’t lived it, he wouldn’t believe it either. But he had hoped she’d at least give them a chance, rather than dismiss out of-

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Now that _was_ unexpected. Basira was practically a lie detector all on her own, but he didn’t think it was really so obvious that they’d missed a section. He looked to Martin for help, but the taller man shook his head, eyes wide. Neither of them had anticipated this.

Jon was smart enough not to deny it, but he was beginning to panic as he Looked around for ways out if this went wrong. Basira watched him, and while she may not serve the Eye, the glare was burning into his skin like a brand.

“Tell. Me.” She spoke stiffly, and the force behind her words was like a punch to the gut. Jon would have to tell her, but he wasn’t ready yet. And he couldn’t relive this more than once, so if he told her he’d have to tell everyone at once.

Cautiously, he began to speak.

“Ok. Ok, I’ll tell you the rest….but you have to let us out, and come with us to the Magnus Institute. I….I can’t tell this more than once.” _Please._

The unspoken plea at the end of his sentence was clear in the tone and manner that he spoke, and Basira understood it perfectly. Just looking at him, it was obvious that he’d been through a hell of a time, and his story corroborated that. But it was missing a section.

Whatever had happened to him, to all of them, in that tower, the Panopticon, mattered much more than he was saying it did, and Basira wasn’t going to plot to kill a man and blow up a building without all the facts.

She also wasn’t unreasonable, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to talk, she took a calculated risk and let them out. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they could have gotten out in their own, but she tried to ignore it.

“I’ll drive us there.” She wasn’t letting them out of her sight.

“Can I tell the others?” Jon asked, still careful, still talking on eggshells around her. She nodded at him, and he pulled out a phone before sending a text.

* * *

**Joe Spooky and co**

**Johnny Eyeballs:** Please come in. I have to tell you all something that I should have said before. I wasn’t ready then, but I am now.

 **Johnny Bossman:** I’ll be there in five minutes.

 **Martini:** Me too.

 **Sashay away:** Same.

 **Timmy Turner:** Already on my way.

 **Sashay away:** Don’t text and drive, Tim.

**Timmy Turner:** _shut_the_fuck_up.jpg_

The drive to the Institute was tense and quiet.

Martin wanted to calm the whole situation, but fog in a police car in the late evening while it rained? That was an accident waiting to happen, so he gripped Jon’s hand and tried to tell him without words that he loved him, and would be there for him, no matter what.

* * *

Jon and Martin had been on the couch watching reruns when their phones buzzed.

“Is that….?”

“Yeah. Is yours….?”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

“Not really, no.”

Martin chuckled at that, and responded to the text. They knew that there was something they weren’t being told, but they were still kind of terrified to find out what it was.

Jon didn’t have a car, so they looked around for an umbrella and found a small black one in the hall cupboard.

“I- uh… I only have one.” Jon bit his knuckle and winced at the pain. He was getting a nasty callus there from the constant worrying at it, and the skin had started to crack.

“That’s fine, that’s ok I’ll walk in the rain, don’t-“

“What? No! I’ll walk in the rain; I don’t want you to get sick, Martin.”

The two men stared at each other defiantly, neither giving in until Jon broke the stalemate hesitantly.

“We….we could share it?”

The look of surprise and sudden flush on Martin’s face answered his question.

“Or not, you know, I’m sorry that was stupid I’ll just-“

“NO! No. Uhhh… no that’s- that’s fine, we can share it.”

So, with a little logistic work, Jon and Martin huddled under the umbrella, pressed close against together as they made their way to the Institute. Their hearts pounded in tandem, and they both did their absolute damndest to pretend that they weren’t.

* * *

When Jon and Martin finally arrived, everyone else was waiting there.

Tim and Sasha sat on the break room couch, while Other Jon and Martin stood to the side, next to a shorter, stocky woman in a blue hijab and police uniform.

 _That must be Basira,_ thought Jon, as he sat down awkwardly on the kitchen chair.

“Sorry we’re late.” Said Martin, as he sat down.

The Other Martin smiled at them both, a little strained, but genuine nonetheless. Other Jon took a breath and addressed them all.

“If I’m going to tell this correctly, I’m going to have to make a Statement. I won’t be able to stop, and you physically won’t be able to interrupt me or impede my progress at all. I won’t be able to spare any details, and-“

Sasha interrupted him there.

“Jon. We can handle this. We’re big kids now. Just…. Just get it over with.”

Other Jon nodded, and somewhere, a tape clicked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it comes! the next chapter is what happened at the panopticon! i'm really excited to write that one, but i want it to be perfect so it might be a bit longer than usual before i update
> 
> anyway, i hope you're all as keen as i am! anyone got a guess for what it might be???


	14. The Statement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Jonathan Sims, The Beholder, regarding the events in the final hours of the end of the world.
> 
> Given live by subject, 3rd August 2016.
> 
> Statement Begins.

_Statement of Jonathan Sims, The Beholder, regarding the events in the final hours of the end of the world._

_Given live by subject, 3 rd August 2016._

_Statement Begins._

_Reaching the tower was the easy part._

_After fighting our way through every challenge, coming out of the other end in one piece, more or less, after losing so much, we made it to that hideous thing, standing like a twisted tree, surveying everything that surrounded it. What was once London was now nothing more than a gateway to that terrible, watching spire._

_Every surface, every brick, every damned window had eyes, sickly yellow as the stared in every direction, their gaze beating down upon our backs as we picked our way through a maze of burnt buildings and screaming._

_Helen was with us, her doors warping more than usual the closer we got to the centre of the hellscape, and even Annabelle Cane had come. She claimed it was to ‘see what happened’ but I Knew. She wanted it over, she wanted it gone, and she wanted to be back in control, something she could never have so long as the Eye presided over everything that was and is and could be._

_Basira stood tall, until she spasmed and dropped her gun as it melted into the asphalt._

_“What the-“_

_“It won’t work here, anyway.” I told her, and she steeled herself once more. We continued on our way and found ourselves, finally, finally, finally at the base of that tower, rising from the ruins of a doomed world like a monstrous guard tower._

_As we stood there, staring at the sheer stone sides, a door cracked open, revealing a twisting staircase that went around and around and around, up and up and up to the very top. Every step of the way was lit up by those same yellow eyes, glowing faintly in the swirling depths, and as I set foot on that staircase, I felt, for the first time in a very long time, true fear of my own._

_It was a long walk, and it should have been exhausting, and yet as we neared the top we all felt fine, breathing easily. A small comfort, I thought, as I wondered what we would find up there. I wish I had never found out what it was that awaited us in the crown of the Panopticon._

_Jonah sat on a golden throne, velvet robes draped over his form as he watched us with many billions of eyes. They covered every surface of his skin, of the throne, the walls, floor, ceiling- there was nothing that didn’t have those staring yellow eyes covering them. They didn’t blink. They didn’t have to. And blinking would mean you might miss something, and that didn’t bear thinking about. And in the middle of it all Jonah, king of a ruined world, presiding over his wasteland of fear with a smug smile. I hated him more in that moment than I ever did before._

_But there was something else there, above the throne. A colossal green eye, so at odds with the yellow around it that it stood out starkly. It pulsed, wrapped in shimmering threads, and as I followed them, I saw, in every direction like the points of a compass, the symbols of the fears._

_A spider, frozen in place, a snarling beast, twisted bones and flesh, clouds of fog and clumps of dirt, every one of them wrapped in the same thread, held there at the mercy of the eye. A cruel jailer, indeed, for cruel prisoners. And then I saw that Jonah was wrapped in the same thread. It covered him head to toe, I realised, and his robes where not velvet as I had thought at first._

_“Hello, Archive.” His voice was layered many times over, and it was laced with so much compulsion and static that even to my ears, it hurt._

_“My name is Jon.” I said, and suddenly I Knew what he wanted. “You can’t do this.”_

_He laughed, and the sound was hideous. I saw even Helen turn away from that, running fluidly to the door, mustard yellow and warped, wrapped in the threads. Annabelle already kneeled at the spider, hands shaking as she beheld the Mother, weakened and forced into a world that didn’t fit her, into a form contained under the eye, seen in ways that were never meant to be, every plan laid bare._

_“You bas-“ she spat the words out before Jonah whipped around, slapping her across the face and forcing a wall of eyes up around her and Helen, who roared in rage, distorted even more than usual as she shook with anger._

_“Shut up.” He snarled at them. He turned back to us, a simpering smile on his thin lips._

_“I already have, Archive. You’ve given me everything I need to contain the Eye within myself! All I need is to sacrifice another servant, and here you are! You brought yourself to me, gift wrapped and ready! You cannot stop this, Archive. Once I become The Eye, I will be unstoppable, immortal-“_

_A chance, I realised in that moment. He was still stoppable; he had said so himself. And if the colour of the Eye wasn’t evidence enough, it whispered in my blood that it favoured me. Jonah was a means to an end, it said. It didn’t truly want this world, after all, what kind of buffet has only stale food? If Jonah succeeds, it told me, then we will all be gone in a matter of years._

_I knew it was right, and so I looked at my companions and forced my plan into their heads. It wasn’t ideal, and I didn’t Know if it would work, but it was the only way out that I could See. I watched as Martin and Basira launched forwards, Jonah’s fatal mistake giving them access to his weakness. He had underestimated them, so sure that he was all-powerful now, and they took him by surprise, tackling him to the ground and stabbing at his eyes with reckless abandon. They healed almost as fast as they attacked them, but that didn’t matter. He had lost his concentration, and Annabelle and Helen were released. It only took them a second to reorientate themselves before they also charged at him, swiping and holding him down as the blood pooled on the floor around him._

_A sacrifice._

_Another servant of the Eye, given over to facilitate the absorption. I Knew what I had to do now, what I had to Say. I didn’t Know what would happen once it was done, whether I would lose myself entirely or if I could contain it. I turned back, just in case, and met Martin’s eyes._

_“I love you.” He whispered, and I Said the words._

_“Ceaseless Watcher, I offer you this sacrifice, this failed servant,”_

_“NO!” Screamed Jonah, choking on his own blood as it bubbled in his throat, heating up and beginning to slow his heartbeat._

_“-to give you the strength to take me over, to use me to walk amongst the earth and feed to your hearts content! Accept my offering and be released!”_

_It was done. I rose into the air, static crackling as Jonah died. The green Eye pulsed faster and harder, sending out waves and swirls of itself into my throat, filling me with that same green light, and then as fast as it had happened it was over. I hovered there, unconscious, fighting to keep control of myself._

_“I can’t leave them.” I told the Eye. It didn’t care. The Eye cared not for emotions, for humanity. All it needed, all it wanted, was fear, was pain, was people to watch-_

_“You can have more than fear.” I realised, and fought harder than ever against the pull of this ancient entity, “you can eat more than fear! Give me control, and I will fix this. I will give you more than you have ever had, I swear this.”_

_It was interested, as much as an embodiment of fear can be interested._

_“Please. Let me try.”_

_And it relented, snapping me back into myself like an over stretched rubber band, and there I was. Millions of new eyes, new strength, new control, and yet still me. Still, at least in some small part, still human. I noticed the trapped ones around me, and how uncomfortable it was, their writhing and fury under me, so I released them into the world._

_My first mistake._

_They couldn’t leave this world, but their pure form could no longer stay, no longer contained under the Eye, and so they did what they had too, finding anyone, the closest ones to them who served them to take over, to become a part of._

_I watched in horror as Martin dissolved into a cloud of Lonely, tried to pull him out, but not even I could See him now. I screamed for him, put all of my love into his name, into those words, and then he was there. He was cold, and washed out, and teetering on the edge, fighting to get the upper hand, but he was here. I wish I could say that I didn’t See what happened to the others, but I did._

_It was terrible, and it was my fault._

_Some managed to keep their humanity, the lucky ones. Those who didn’t…. it was worse than anything I could have imagined, worse than anything I could have Known, and I buckled under the weight of it._

_I was there, staring at everyone and everything in that world until it was untwisted, returned to what it had once been. But it wasn’t. Those who survived where mad, raving things, lost and hopeless, and the streets were carpeted with bodies. The Eye pushed against my skull._

_You said we would feed, it demanded, fix this, and feed us._

_“I’m trying.” I told it, and I was. I searched for an answer, using all of this newfound power to look for any chance, and it kept coming back to one option._

_Stop it all before it begins._

_Kill Jonah, and prevent him from ever bringing this about._

_“How?” I pleaded into the void, searching and searching for the answer, until at last the void whispered back._

_Helen, it told me, and I turned to her, looking at her in every way, Seeing her in all her distorted anguish._

_“Stop. That.”_

_"Help me, please."_

_It wasn’t easy. It took a very long time, a wedding, and many, many failed attempts before I could make it through the doorway at all, but once it was ready, I had to go as soon as possible._

_Hand on the doorhandle, I Looked back at the survivors, Martin and Helen, standing side by side, awaiting their chance to enter._

_I hoped that it wouldn’t be my last Sight, and stepped into the hallways._

_Statement Ends._

The static and the green light faded from his eyes.

In the distance, a tape clicked off, and it was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, i hope i did this justice- ive been planning this bit for Quite A While!  
> So thats waht happened at the panopticon! thoughts?


	15. The Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had it all, now. The whole story. Everything was finally falling into place, and the rage was setting in.

When the tape clicked off and the static faded from the air, it was as if they’d woken from a dream. Jon was slumped in Martin’s arms, the exhaustion of channelling so much of the Eye at once kicking in. They had it all, now. The whole story. Everything was finally falling into place, and the rage was setting in.

It wasn’t directed at them, no, that was unthinkable, to be angry at what they’d done, after what they’d seen, it wasn’t fair to be angry at them.

This fury, this hate, was all pointed at the world, at the people who’d forced this to happen, and the clearest target for that was Jonah Magnus.

There was no discussion, no weighing of the pros and cons. They simply turned to one another, and a terse nod was exchanged.

And it was decided.

“Is he…?” Basira asked Other Martin hesitantly, gesturing to the Jon in his arms, who raised his head and regarded them in that unnerving way of his, bleary eyed.

“Will you-“ he started to speak, but the words were choked with static and replaced with random facts about _moths,_ of all things. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and began again.

“Will you help us?”

And they answered as one, a united group with one goal in mind: Save the world.

_“Yes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this.....is really short BUT its like intense??? i think??? anyway yea i will have something longer soon probably


	16. The Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there he was, standing outside the Archives in the middle of the night, preparing to call Jon in. Just as he was about to dial the number, he heard the sound of the door at the top of the hallway opening. He Looked reflexively, and didn’t see anything, but then Jon’s voice echoed down towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writers block yeet😗✌

It had not been a good few months for Jonah Magnus. It had all started with his apartment, and then constant damned letters and parcels full of the most ridiculous things always sent directly to him, always addressed with his real name. He’d been forced to actually reach out and ask the people who knew his true identity if they were responsible.

It was humiliating. Peter had been insufferable.

And the scope of his vision just kept. Getting. Smaller. Every day he’d wake up and force his sight out as far as it could go, and every day it didn’t reach as far as it had the day before. But even from the very start of all this, from the first awful day when he’d first been blinded, he hadn’t been able to See Jon or the Archives, or anyone in them. So like any power hungry body hopping servant of an eldritch entity, he had come to the conclusion that Jon was responsible for this……well, for lack of a better description, _nightmare._

If he was going to figure out what in the _hell_ was going on, then he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.

And there he was, standing outside the Archives in the middle of the night, preparing to call Jon in. Just as he was about to dial the number, he heard the sound of the door at the top of the hallway opening. He Looked reflexively, and didn’t see anything, but then Jon’s voice echoed down towards him.

_Perfect._

* * *

Jon Knew what Jonah wanted to do.

He Knew that he was waiting in the archives right now, and he Knew that he wasn’t going to let his past self go anywhere near him. So he waited outside, invisible to any eyes, waiting for his chance. When he Saw Jonah reach for his phone, he knew it was time.

It wasn’t hard to put a cover on his appearance so Jonah would see him as his past self. It was exhausting, sure, and it wouldn’t hold for very long, but it wasn’t _hard._ Jon made his way down the hall and called out.

“Hello? Is there someone down here?”

Sure enough, Jonah stood before him, smiling smugly and looking like a cat who brutally murdered a canary with a pipe and then framed the dog.

God, he hated him.

“Well, if it isn’t the very man I was looking for! Come to my office, Jon. We need to have a little _chat._ ”

So he followed Jonah, steaming with resentment and slowly, slowly peeling away yet another layer of Sight. Not enough to notice, not like the chunks he ripped away at night, or the sections he tore apart whenever he felt particularly vengeful, this was just a sliver. It was quite satisfying, actually.

They arrived at the office, intricately furnished with a portrait of Jonah behind the desk.

 _He so goddamn pretentious_ , thought Jon as he sat in the plush chair across from him. He got a savage pleasure from the barely visible ink stain still on the opposite wall, and he very nearly lost his concentration, and his disguise.

_Back in character, Jon._

Jonah sat on the other side of the desk, fingers tented, staring him down with a glare that wasn’t half as intimidating as he wanted it to be. Past Jon, however, would have been very uncomfortable, and so Jon twisted awkwardly in the seat, and spoke with a feigned respect.

“I’m sorry, I was just coming down to do a bit of extra work and I’m not really sure what you wanted-oomph!”

But with his concentration so focused on maintaining his illusion, he didn’t Know that Jonah was planning to launch across the desk and tie him up. Before he could even See what was happening, he was strapped securely to the chair, and Jonah was standing above him, his perfect mask of calm shattered, the broken pieces slicing his face and revealing the ever-cracking base beneath.

“I know you’re behind this, Jon! I don’t know how you could be so powerful, but it has. To. Be. You. So, Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, I’m going to _rip it out of your skull,_ and then I’m going to kill you.”

His impression of Jon’s own voice, the threat, indeed the whole situation was…. Not ideal. Jon figured that Jonah hadn’t planned this, because all Jon had Know _was_ just a conversation where he was vague and creepy and generally Jonah.

He couldn’t fight back against this without losing his disguise, without revealing himself, and while Jonah wouldn’t be able to follow through on his threats, the attempt might make everything worse, in the long run.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What can I do?_

And he forced himself into the depths of knowledge open to him now. He cast his mind out, searching for the connection, for the way out, for the best thing to do and- there! It wasn’t ideal, but then, nothing was. Not anymore.

“Do you know what, Jonah?” He spoke confidently, dropping all pretence, revealing his true form, his multitude of eyes, the scars, the pain, the truth of himself. As deranged as Jonah was becoming, he recognised this as something bad. His eyes ( _Only two of them? Amateur.)_ widened and he stumbled backwards.

“I don’t think you will do that, actually. In fact,” Jon stood, bonds snapping, tapes whirring and clicking as the ever-present faint hum of static rose to a crescendo. “I think, today, it will be _me_ ripping things from your skull.”

Jon reached forward and gripped the fallen mans head, eyes neon green, their light leeching all colour from Jonah’s face as he sobbed.

He forced himself easily into his mind, searching for every detail involving the loss of his Sight, for any memory of this night, anything that seemed even vaguely relevant. He was ruthless, tearing them out and leaving behind no traces. The Eye revelled in the scream, in the pain, in the _fear,_ and it began searching deeper and deeper for more, it wanted _more_ and it was going to get it-

 _No!_ Jon pulled back, forced himself out of the Eye, putting himself back at the wheel and kicking it back into control.

Jonah lay unconscious on the floor in front of him, face streaked with tears and blood. He trembled and twitched, murmuring unintelligibly. Jon checked, quickly, to make sure he hadn’t done lasting damage- any more than was already there, at least, and found that he was…. Not _fine_ per say, but he wouldn’t have any major issues.

It was then that Jon realised that he was also shaking. His hands quivered as he cleaned up the room, removing the evidence, and when he opened the door into the hallway, he collapsed, sliding down the wall with his head in his hands. His body shook with sobs and all of his eyes blinked away tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

Had he done that? Had he really done that? Jonah was far from innocent but what if he lost control like that again? Jon wasn’t human. He knew that. But he’d thought that he had a handle on this stuff! He’d been so confident- don’t worry, Martin, he’d said, I’ll be fine!

Martin.

Martin. He wanted Martin, he wanted his husband, he wanted those cold, comforting hands to wipe away his tears and pull him close, he wanted the sweaters that smelt like _home-_

And there he was. Martin was there, strong arms picking him up and holding him close, a soft voice whispering words of comfort and love and Jon began to feel himself snapping back into reality.

When stopped being numb he found that everything hurt, and he nestled closer to his love.

“Thank you, Martin.”

The two of them dropped into the Lonely and reappeared in the tunnels. Jon was mostly recovered now, but neither of them wanted to talk, so they curled together onto the air mattress on the ground. The events of that night hadn’t been what Jon had expected, and it wasn’t what he’d wanted, but that could be dealt with…. Later ( _read: never_ ). For now, he would try and do whatever approximated for sleep nowadays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i broke my own rules! JOnah fucking talks! i hate it here! 
> 
> also any of yall americans wanna join my smuggling op? I'll get u out of the country and into aus quick as


	17. The Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think that the others probably agree. But how are we going to do that?”
> 
> “By stealing from a dead woman.”

Martin sat on the small, sagging couch with a blanket on his lap and cup in his hand. Jon came in from the kitchen and passed him a steaming plate of curry, leftover from the night before.

“I still can’t believe you cook.”

Jon looked down and picked at his sweater. He tried and failed to supress an embarrassed smile.

“It’s just leftovers, Martin.” He sat down next to him with his own plate and turned on the tv.

“Still. It’s delicious!” Martin reached over and grabbed the remote, turning on a film to watch as they ate. Together. Sitting on Jon’s shitty, too-small couch in old sweaters and pyjama shorts, eating a homecooked meal and watching _Back to the Future._ It was strange, how comfortable they’d gotten around each other. Those early days spent in silence, staying in separate rooms, felt like so long ago. They’d fallen into a rhythm, of eating together, going to the institute at the same time, having actual conversations. It was nice.

It had done a number of Jon’s authority in the archives, but that had been slipping for a while, and nobody really cared at this point. Once you’ve seen your boss on a table wearing 4 different coats and begging you to get rid of a spider, well…..

The domesticity of it all wasn’t lost on either of them, but like any good highly repressed and emotionally stunted pair, they elected to ignore it.

Sitting together in comfortable silence for a time, they watched the movie. When Marty found himself in the past, Martin turned to Jon.

“What do you think they’re doing down there tonight?” They, of course, were the time travelling Jon and Martin who’d turned everything upside down and told everyone to have the next day off.

“We have a job to do tonight and it might not-“

“It absolutely will not be- Sorry, sorry, love, continue.”

“It _might not_ be a good idea for you to be here tonight or tomorrow, so….”

It wasn’t difficult to convince them to leave it alone for a bit. Despite the constant assurances from the Others that they were taking care of it and that they just wanted to finish the plan before they explained it all, the institute, especially the archive, was still creepy.

“I’m not sure.” Said Jon, honestly. He had a bit of rice stick to his lip, and Martin desperately wanted to reach over and brush it away, and then maybe he’d lean in a bit more and-

“I thought I heard them saying something about Elias- sorry, Jonah- so maybe they’re talking to him?” Martin hummed in agreement.

“They don’t seem like the talking type, though.”

This time it was Jon’s turn to hum. He looked away for a moment, contemplative and so, so beautiful- _no, Martin_ \- before he looked back with a wry grin.

“It’s rather odd, isn’t it? Talking about ourselves like this.”

“I guess so. What…. What do you think of them? Do you like them?”

There was a brief silence before Jon answered.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose I do. They’ve been through so much, and I certainly don’t want that to happen to me, and yet he seems… content. Happy, even. I didn’t think I’d ever get to be really happy, especially with yo- someone else.” Jon scratched his arm, pulling the sleeve of his grey sweater down and exposing the warm brown skin beneath. “They seem happy together, at least, and that’s……it’s something I’ve always wanted.”

Martin didn’t know how to respond. Jon had just said something that he didn’t like to tell people, his hesitation and nervous fidgeting making that clear, and yet he’d told _Martin._ And now he was looking at him expectantly, waiting for something. Waiting for…..oh! A response. Of course.

“I- yes. Me too. I have also….yeah. I like them as well. And…..I get what you mean? About wanting something like that.”

A moment passed between the two of them, heavy with waiting and laced with possibility. Their fingers reached out at the same time, and met in the middle. Barely there, barely touching. But it was a start.

* * *

“It just a fact! He’s _hot!”_

“He’s our time travelling, inhuman ex-boss! Who’s married!”

Sasha and Tim were _not_ drunk, thank you very much. They certainly hadn’t finished two bottles of prosecco between them, and they absolutely weren’t sitting on the countertop upside down and discussing the merits of time travelling versions of their friends.

“Yes, Sashaaaaaa, I _know_ that! But the whole glowing green eyes thing? All those scars? The _air of mystery?_ He’s sexy, and you can’t deny it!”

Sasha took another swig from her glass and rolled her eyes.

“Ok, fine. He is a little bit sexy, but as your girlfriend i have to say that I’ll be disappointed if you cheat on me with him, and as your friend I think that Other Martin would probably send you into that weird fog of his and never let you out again if you made a move on him.”

Tim took a contemplative sip and swirled his glass.

“Mmmmmmmmmm…..I think you might be right, actually. Hey, maybe _that’s_ what they’re doing tonight!”

“Throwing people into the fog?” Sasha stared at him incredulously.

There was a pause as the macarena played faintly in the background, and then they lost it. The pair laughed together until their stomachs hurt, content and hopeful for a future that, for once, might actually be worth waiting for.

* * *

Jon and Martin didn’t actually sleep anymore, but sometimes it was nice to pretend they did. They didn’t move for several hours, wrapped in each other and breathing in sync. It was when Jon stirred and began to sit up that Martin also moved.

“Are you ok, Jon?”

“No. We both know that there’s no such thing as ok for us anymore.”

“Jon….. you’re being needlessly pessimistic again. You know what I meant.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry, love. I’m….as well as can be expected. And I really, really, _really_ want to kill him and burn this place to the goddamn ground.”

Martin grinned at that, and stood up. He wrapped the shorter man in a hug and kissed the soft, greying hair on the top of his head.

“I think that the others probably agree. But how are we going to do that?”

“By stealing from a dead woman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, im not dead
> 
> yet  
> anyway whos ready to steal from old women and kill old men?


End file.
